Marilla's Diary
by oz diva
Summary: Excerpts from Marilla's diary starting when she is ten. Later based on my other story Memories are Made of This.
1. Chapter 1

This is Marilla Cuthbert's life through her diary. I intend to show how she changes from a young bubbly girl to an older woman and then becomes Anne's mother and then grandmother to Anne and Gilbert's children. I will follow the AU life that i have mapped out for her in my other stories.

* * *

Green Gables  
Prince Edward Island  
Christmas Day 1834

10F  
Cloudy  
Snow Depth 20 inches

Dearest Diary

Merry Christmas my darling new Diary. Mama and Papa just gave you to me, and I intend to fill your glorious creamy pages with all my hopes and desires, my fears and disasters, though hopefully not too many of the latter. It can get a bit quiet in my little corner of the world, but I'm sure you will be a wonderful companion. My heart thrilled when I received you even as you were all wrapped up. We have a family game where we attempt to guess the present before unwrapping it. Of course, I thought you were going to be a novel, that would have been thrilling, perhaps you might have been Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame or Mother Goose? But I was delighted to meet you Dearest One. You are so very beautiful. Shall I describe you to yourself?

You have a beautiful covering of green velvet and within you have nicely thick creamy white pages, with faint lines. Sometimes my writing goes a little astray, the lines should assist with that. To get the most out of you, darling one, I shall attempt to write quite small.

Christmas Day started early as it usually does. Mama and I had to get started on the Christmas Dinner, the turkey had to be prepared and placed into the oven before we got ready for church.

Mr Williamson, the minister gave a very lively sermon for which I was thankful. Sometimes he can go on a bit and I get bored, but today he reminded us of the blessing that God bestowed upon mankind in the form of baby Jesus which led onto the nativity play. I was very excited because this year I played the part of Mary. We all ran out the back to put on our robes. This year we even had a real-life donkey, but I was a bit afraid of riding it, so I just walked alongside. John Blythe played Joseph and we even had a real-life baby too, namely little William Barry.

We heard the oohs and aahs of the audience as we proceeded into the church. Papa parked the donkey outside because we needed the room and I don't think the donkey is church trained. I felt very proud to be standing up in front of the congregation, I could see Mama, Papa and Matthew smiling in my direction. I delivered my lines without a hitch, one of the Wise Men, James Sloane, mucked up his line, but the audience were very forgiving. I would have been mortified if that had happened to me. I've been practicing for weeks now, so unless I got terrible stage fright, I knew I would be all right. The audience applauded so loudly that they woke poor wee Baby Jesus up, he started crying at the end and his Mama had to come and rescue him. I suppose that wasn't very holy, but at least the play was over by then. I'm sure God won't mind.

We all piled into the sleigh for the ride home. It was freezing, and more snow was falling. The roast turkey was smelling delicious, so while Papa and Matthew went out to the barn to see to the animals, Mama and I prepared the vegetables and Mama put the Christmas Pudding on to steam.

Dinner was delicious, and we had a merry time together. Everyone talked about the Nativity play and complimented me on my acting. After Mama and I had cleared away the main course plates, Papa drained the Christmas Pudding and placed it on a platter and then flamed the pudding with a little brandy, which we keep for just this purpose alone.

I adore Christmas Pudding. Of course, Mama had made it way back in October. I always want to eat it right there and then, but we have to let the flavours develop, so it's always the culmination of many months of waiting. The crumbly, sweet, fruity pudding is my favourite thing to eat all year. Luckily, we have plenty of leftovers too, so we can enjoy it for a few more evenings yet.

This is the time that we start to think of New Years' Resolutions. I think I will resolve to be nicer to Rachel Potter, sometimes she can be rather annoying, but I mustn't let her know that. I resolve to let her manner wash over me. She is my best friend for all her gossipy ways.

I can hear Mama coming up the stairs, she will be telling me to snuff out the candle, so I will close for now, Dearest One.

Much love

Marilla Cuthbert aged 10


	2. Chapter 2

Temperature 12F

Cloudy  
Snow Depth 26 inches

3 January 1835

Happy New Year, Dearest Diary!

My apologies I have had such a a busy couple of weeks that I've had no time to write to you.

After Christmas, more snow fell and we children, Matthew and myself, Rachel, and a gang from school took the opportunity to go sledding. There's a lovely hill, long, straight and gently sloping nearby, it ends at Barry's Pond.

James Sloane went first, cutting through the light powder with his sled like a knife through butter. It almost seemed a shame to ruin the beautiful snow. When it was my go, someone pushed me off and I was away with a whoosh. My sled picked up pace and before I knew it I was rushing down the slope, the icy wind froze my cheeks and the tears in my eyes froze to my eyelashes. There was a slight turn and I leaned into the curve as the sled flashed down the slope before I came to a stop with a whoosh in a bank of snow. Sledding is such fun dear Diary, I'm sorry you'll never get the chance to enjoy it.

It was exhilarating but exhausting, because of course once you reach the bottom you have to trudge back up to the top. Mama appeared after a while, with a tray of hot chocolate which we all enjoyed. It was so warming and I could feel the milk reaching even unto my extremities. I gave her a big hug and a kiss on her cheek to thank her. She said she knew how we felt, from past experience of sledding in Scotland

The next day was fine, but cold. The snow was still feathery light, perfect for a massive snowball fight which was held on The Avenue, the stark bare apple trees providing excellent cover. I managed to get a few excellent shots in, but also received a fair few back. Eventually we ran home, our extremities freezing cold and Mama served hot milk again to warm us all up.

There was a New Year's Ceilidh held at the Church Hall. I've never been allowed to attend before but Mama and Papa let me go with Rachel and her parents. Matthew wasn't interested, too many girls for his liking. He is SO shy it's ridiculous, what does he think will happen if he says good evening to a girl, I don't understand him? We set off in the Potters sleigh wearing our prettiest dresses under big coats, hats, scarves and mittens against the cold. When we arrived the ceilidh was in full swing. Mr Potter let us ladies off at the door before driving away to find a place to park the sleigh and to tend to the horses.

Diary, it was so gay and colourful within. I have never seen anything quite so beautiful. The band was playing such lively Scottish music and folks were following the callers commands. It was all very confusing, I admit. I found it hard to keep up, but Mrs Potter assured me that was half the fun, and she was right. It always took little over half the dance to get the hang of it and then it would be all over, but I was breathless with dancing and it was all in good fun. Rachel and I decided to dance as long as we could, but her parents were under strict instructions to get me home before midnight, so we left before everyone sang Auld Lang Syne. I hope to see that one day.

Mama and Papa were waiting up for me and welcomed me home and offered the Potters a wee dram, before they retired taking a sleepy Rachel home with them. It was a glorious evening.

*.*.*

Temperature 71F  
Sunny

8 May 1840

John Blythe John Blythe John Blythe

His very name sends shivers down my spine. I love to write the letters of his name, I love to murmur it to myself. Sometimes I'm afraid to speak out loud for fear that's what I'll answer Mama, instead of the right reply to her query.

He walks me to school these days and I enjoy the journey more than I ever have before. Mama has noticed that I spring out of bed without a complaint these days. Hitherto it was a struggle to get me out to do my chores and she would always complain. Now though, I look forward to walking to school with John. He is so handsome, so funny, so intelligent, so sweet. Such a gentleman as he carries my books. His black curly hair is so handsome, I long to run my fingers through his locks. One day, one day, I pray.

Next week we are going to a church dance with Rachel and her new beau Thomas Lynde. I like Thomas, he seems like a nice boy and I know Rachel is smitten. It is very gay to be seeing boys together. We are going to get dressed at Rachel's house beforehand, that's not too difficult for me, but Rachel can't decide what to wear.

*.*.*

Temperature 73F  
Overcast

17 May 1840

The eagerly anticipated Church dance was held last night. Oh Diary dearest, it was the most fun I've ever had in my life. We kissed and kissed. I'm sure the old Avonlea biddies were most scandalised. I giggle with joy when I recall his sweet apple lips on mine. I nearly fainted the first time, I forgot to breathe, silly me.

Shall I recount the night to you, Diary darling, so that I might drink in the glorious nature of the night evermore?

I walked over to Rachel's house mid afternoon. Mama bid me farewell, for she was happy to see me go out on such an adventure. The afternoon was warm and I felt as though the way was more beautiful than usual; maybe the anticipation of a lovely evening made it so.

Rachel and I spent hours getting ready. I only have one good dress, but Rachel has lots. If only we were the same size I could borrow one of hers, but she is much shorter than I, so that won't work. The boys were picking us up at 7.00 o'clock and we spent a joyful afternoon doing each other's hair whilst Rachel tried on what seemed like every dress she has ever owned, eventually she picked a powder blue one, while I wore my light pink.

John was so gallant, he seemed nervous in my presence, stammering slightly as he gave me a beautiful light blue ribbon which matched my dress delightfully. Rachel said it set off my eyes too, maybe that's why he chose it. What a sweetheart.

The music was spilling out into the night when we arrived and we took a collective breath as we walked into the throng. Everyone was dancing in pairs, gaily waltzing in circles. We took to the floor and joined in. I felt lighter than air, then it happened, dearest Diary, his head dipped down to mine and our lips grazed each other. He bent down slightly lower the better to connect and the kiss deepened. It was as though we were alone on that crowded dance floor, time seemed to slow down, then stop entirely. I felt weak at the knees and he must have felt me falling because he broke off then and ordered me to breathe. I took a large lungful of air and felt better almost immediately. I felt like such a fool, but John just laughed and fetched me some punch. When he was gone, I thought some more about that kiss. I want more, I want to kiss his beautiful muscly arms, his neck, his cheeks, and well, a lady shouldn't say it really, but I want to kiss him all over.

I had been slightly apprehensive, dearest one, but I had no need to worry. John was a perfect gentleman and looked after me beautifully. We spent the night dancing and kissing. I think Rachel was slightly annoyed with me actually, as if I were making a scene. I don't care though, I was having such a wonderful time. I don't know why she was jealous, she told me she kisses Thomas all the time. Jane Pye had to sidle over to make me feel small. She made some backhanded compliment about my dress, but I wasn't going to let her ruin the evening for me. She's a Pye, that's what Pye's do.

Unfortunately, it seemed my behaviour was too scandalous for Rachel to contend with. She seemed quite snooty when she declared it was time to go home. Maybe she was jealous? If that was so, well I'm not too dismayed, Rachel has everything handed to her. It was nice to be the one having all the fun for a change. We dropped Rachel off first, she went a bit quiet when she realised that I would be left alone with the boys, what did she think would happen? John kissed me goodnight and I ran inside the house.

I lay in bed before going to sleep thinking over the events of the evening. No one is up yet this morning, which gives me ample time to jot down my experiences. I don't want to forget this night, ever. Thank goodness you'll keep my memories alive for me, darling one.


	3. Chapter 3

A few people have commented on my version of Marilla, you say she's too lighthearted. I've based her on a few ideas.

MrsVonTrapp commented on a previous story that Marilla had to be attractive for John Blythe to be interested in her in the first place.

In the 1985 Sullivan production, Marilla says to Anne "You might be a kindred spirit after all." That was in relation to the slate incident, but I've chosen to extrapolate that to a wider meaning.

LMM says Marilla has the makings of a sense of humour which was her saving grace.

I'd love to know what you think of my explanation and the character I am creating.

* * *

Temperature 75F  
Sunny

12 June 1840

Summer, glorious summer, I love the warmth, but it's so hot with all these clothes. I long for the simpler clothes of my childhood. Now I am older I am forced to wear petticoats, stockings, and at least three layers above my waist, chemise, corset and blouse. I was so looking forward to growing up, but it's not much fun in some ways. My womanly time is particularly annoying and corsets are no fun at all. Luckily there are other compensations. Do I hear you ask 'Such as?' dearest one. Well boys spring to mind, John Blythe in particular.

John and I have a great deal of fun together, sometimes we make a foursome with Rachel and Thomas and that is very gay. Last week Mama chaperoned us as we all went to the White Sands Hotel to listen to a concert. We made a jolly party on the ride there, all chatting and laughing. It is not often that I have had the opportunity to go so far from home and I should have enjoyed the view more, but I confess I was too busy drowning in John's deep brown eyes. I tried not to make it so obvious since Mama was with us, but she nudged me on occasion and I wrenched my eyes away and out to the countryside. We held hands throughout and John squeezed mine gently when Mama chided me. I confess Diary that I do like this boy, I like him very well.

The concert was very refined. It was a rare treat for us to hear such beautiful music. It was even nicer to be sat next to John and to feel his thigh resting next to mine. He pressed against my leg with his slightly more force than he should have done and I thrilled to feel it there. We had to do this surreptitiously of course, Mama would not have approved. Rachel and Thomas sat along from us quite demurely, content to listen, but John and I got the giggles and shook with suppressed laughter, until Mama nudged me to be quiet.

Mama spoke to me the other day. She told me that she knows I am dead gone on John, but that folks were beginning to talk. Some people think our behaviour is inappropriate. Mama doesn't want me to be unhappy, but she thinks we should be more circumspect. My initial reaction is to ignore folk, I do what I please. We aren't hurting anyone with our courting, that's what I replied to Mama anyway. She just shook her head and replied that we had to live with these people and it wouldn't do to upset them all. I wish I were older and John could just propose now. I want to marry him, there I said it Diary, I want to be married to John Blythe. Marilla Blythe has such a lovely ring to it, don't you agree? Sometimes I even practise writing my new signature. I shouldn't jinx it I suppose. Maybe he doesn't feel the same way about me.

We had a slight quarrel the other day. It was nothing really, but he pulled away and walked ahead of me while I walked slowly behind him. Both of us momentarily furious with each other. I can't even recall what it was about, something terribly inconsequential that I know. After a while we both calmed down and he stopped when I called him and waited 'til I caught him up. We tried to apologise at the same time, stopped, paused, started again until finally he said "You first Mar" and I told him I was sorry and he said the same to me. He bent down and picked a small bunch of wild pink roses, I drank in their soft fragrance and carried them the rest of the afternoon, they're here in a vase now.

He calls me Mar, did I tell you Diary? It's his pet name for me. No one ever called me a nickname before and I thrill to hear it. Marilla is such a ridiculous name, I don't know where Mama found it. You never hear of anyone called Marilla in my favourite novels.

There's a church picnic planned for next weekend and John has asked me to accompany him. I've been sewing myself a new dress, it's nearly finished.

I wonder if he will ask me to marry him one day? Sometimes Rachel and I spend hours imagining our wedding days and giggle as we picture our wedding night. I don't exactly know what goes on that night, though I have seen our cows mating, I hope it's nicer than that. We chat about kissing our beaux. Rachel wants Thomas to touch her breasts, and I admit that it sounds thrilling, but we will have to wait until we are married. She is fairly certain that Thomas will propose one day. It would be very fine for us both to marry these boys and live here in Avonlea together. I can just see us surrounded with babies or with bulging bellies. I want so desperately to have children of my own to love and cherish.

*.*.*

20 June 1840

Temperature 73F  
Sunny

Dear Diary

The Church Picnic was held in the church grounds. There's a very pretty garden surrounding the church with a wide lawn. It seemed all of Avonlea were attending. It was a pretty scene, with myriads of picnic blankets strewn on the lawn. I wore my new light blue dress and felt very fine in it. John complimented me on it and was suitably impressed when I admitted that I had made it myself. I matched it with the blue ribbon he gave me at the dance last month. I had to make do with my old hat though, I have seen a new hat at the Carmody store, but I can't afford it. Rachel wore her new had and I admit I was a bit envious. She can buy anything she wants, while I have to save up.

John met me at the gate when we approached and with a nod to Mama and Papa I took his arm. I could see the eyes of all Avonlea watching us as he led me through the throng. He had placed his blanket on the edge of the crowd and we sat down together to chat, I admitted that I felt a bit self-conscious with everyone watching us, but he put me at ease by commenting on them all, telling me what they must have had for breakfast this morning. He had such a funny way about him that I was laughing throughout. Later we tied our ankles together for the three-legged race. Ordinarily I would say I was too old for it, but it was great fun. We didn't win, we fell over laughing about half-way down the straight. It was a glorious day.

Papa has asked Mr Blythe if he can borrow John to help him and Matthew with the harvest. One more pair of hands would make all the difference, he says. I am going to enjoy having him over during the day, even if he has to work.

*.*.*

30 August 1840

Temperature 64F  
Overcast

Dear Diary

As promised John has been helping Papa and Matthew with the harvest this week. I have enjoyed peeking out the window to see him working hard in the fields. I can practically make out his bulging muscles beaded with sweat as he lifts hay bales with ease. Mama and I prepare lunch for them all and I have been very happy to serve John the pies and baked goods Mama and I have prepared all morning to sustain them. He casually lifted his eyes to mine and gently thanked me. Mama told me not to forget that Matthew and Papa needed lunch as well. I admit I was staring at John for a bit too long. We did not get much chance to chat this week, John was working hard, but since I got to gaze at his brown muscly biceps under his sweaty shirt, I didn't mind too much. He smells nice when he's sweaty. I didn't expect that, Matthew just smells of cow and hay, John's sweat is far more attractive to me. It was nice to have him around the place, I will miss him when the harvest is over. Papa says he's really appreciated his help and I've really appreciated his presence too.


	4. Chapter 4

20 September 1840

66F  
Sunny

We quarrelled. He took me to the beach on this sunny afternoon. We almost had the beach to ourselves. John being a man, was able to shuck his shoes and socks off. He encouraged me to do likewise which I did eventually. The sand between my toes did feel delightful. I haven't done that for years and years. We stood in the waves giggling because i kept unbalancing when the sand washed out from under my bare feet. I had to clutch onto John's arm to stop falling over.

Sitting on the beach later, we drew shapes in the sand with twigs. I was drawing love hearts. Then John as good as told me I was ugly. Oh, he didn't say it in so many words Dear Diary. He just said that he'd bumped into Jane Pye at the store and that she had a new beau and that he thought Jane was stunning. How does he think I feel when he says that? Then he ploughed on saying that Mary Gillis is also beautiful. Then he made some comment about how it's better to be intelligent than pretty. He as good as told me I was ugly Dearest Diary. I stiffened up and asked to be taken home.

* * *

28 September 1840

54F  
Sunny

John paid a call today. I don't know what he meant to do? If he meant to apologise, he did a poor job of it. We went for a walk around Barry's Pond. I mentioned something Rachel had told me about Thomas in passing and he launched into an attack on her, on my best friend. If he thinks my friends are awful and that I'm ugly then I'm not sure I want to be with this boy at all. He just doesn't understand me at all. I ran home, away from him, away from those unkind words. Matthew caught up with me as I ran back into the house and I poured out my concerns to him. He has always been such a kind brother to me. He listened patiently and gave me his handkerchief to wipe away my tears. I am so lucky to have him.

* * *

29 September 1840

51F  
Overcast

Rachel called. I never know how she knows things, she just does. She knew John and I had quarrelled. Since she had been one of the subjects about whom we had quarrelled, I couldn't tell her what it was all about. She probably thinks I'm crazy, but I did tell her that he as good as told me I was ugly. She patted my shoulder and listened to me sympathetically. I hope she doesn't share my news with half of Avonlea.

* * *

5 October 1840

55F  
Rainy

I've been ill Dear Diary, I felt a bit off all afternoon. It felt as though the sun was too bright and the birds were too noisy, everything made my head hurt Thinking back I had a visual disturbance, what the doctor called an aura, where I had flashing lights in my eyes. Later that night I awoke in agony. I don't remember much, but it was very painful and I vomited in bed. It felt as though my brain was being squeezed between two bricks. Mama said afterwards that I was incoherent. It was when I was talking gibberish that she really panicked and sent Papa off to fetch the Doctor.

I'm still recovering in bed now. I feel so weak Dearest one. I couldn't even manage the bowl of gruel Mama bought up. She had to help me as if I were still a baby. Doctor McBain told me I had suffered a sick-headache and that I might suffer from them on and off all my life. That's a terrible burden to face. He said to watch out for the warning signs and to take to my bed as soon as they cropped up. Now I'm lying in bed hoping that John might appear.

…

It's later now, and I did receive a visitor, but it was not John. John is nowhere to be seen. Instead I was happy to welcome Rachel into my bedroom. She caught me up on all the gossip, trust Rachel to be informed. She believes that John will come sometime, she's sure he loves me. I was surprised when Mama brought us both up a glass of raspberry cordial. Rachel was delighted as she had never tasted it before and we both declared it absolutely delicious. Rachel brought me a book to wile away the time, namely The Flying Dutchman which sounds thrilling. I shall enjoy it immensely, I'm sure.

* * *

14 October 1840

50F  
Overcast

Still no sign of John.

* * *

22 October 1840

49F  
Rainy

Where are you John?

* * *

30 October 1840

47F  
Rainy

I don't think he's coming back.

Was our quarrel so awful? Has he given up on me now? Did he not love me? I certainly loved him well enough. Please don't leave me, John. Please come back to me.

I have trying to find solace in my Bible, but it is not helping. Mama has a book of poetry in the parlour and I have been reading that instead. Somehow the poets know what I am going through.

There is Caroline Norton:

 _I do not love thee!—no! I do not love thee!_  
 _And yet I am sad;_  
 _And envy even the bright blue sky above thee,_  
 _Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.*_

But I do love him, so that's not right.

The last stanza of To His Coy Love by Michael Drayton gets to the heart of it.

 _Clip me no more in those dear arms,_  
 _Nor thy life's comfort call me,_  
 _O these are but too powerful charms,_  
 _And do but more enthral me!_  
 _But see how patient I am grown_  
 _In all this coil about thee:_  
 _Come, nice thing, let my heart alone,_  
 _I cannot live without thee!_

Or

 _My heart was slain, and none but you and I;_  
 _Who should I think the murther should commit,_  
 _Since but yourself there was no creature by,_  
 _But only I, guiltless of murth'ring it?_  
 _It slew itself; the verdict on the view_  
 _Doth quit the dead, and me not accessary._  
 _Well, well, I fear it will be prov'd by you,_  
 _The evidence so great a proof doth carry._  
 _But O, see, see, we need inquire no further:_  
 _Upon your lips the scarlet drops are found,_  
 _And in your eye the boy that did the murther;_  
 _Your cheeks yet pale, since first he gave the wound._  
 _By this I see, however things be past,_  
 _Yet Heaven will still have murther out at last.**_

Which is satisfying, he did slay my heart. It feels brittle and broken.

Tennyson does it best, as ever

 _Her tears fell with the dews at even;_  
 _Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;_  
 _She could not look on the sweet heaven,_  
 _Either at morn or eventide._  
 _After the flitting of the bats,_  
 _When thickest dark did trance the sky,_  
 _She drew her casement-curtain by,_  
 _And glanced athwart the glooming flats._  
 _She only said, "The night is dreary,_  
 _He cometh not," she said;_  
 _She said, "I am aweary, aweary,_  
 _I would that I were dead!"_

And the last stanza

 _All day within the dreamy house,_  
 _The doors upon their hinges creak'd;_  
 _The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse_  
 _Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd,_  
 _Or from the crevice peer'd about._  
 _Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors_  
 _Old footsteps trod the upper floors,_  
 _Old voices called her from without._  
 _She only said, "My life is dreary,_  
 _He cometh not," she said;_  
 _She said, "I am aweary, aweary,_  
 _I would that I were dead!"***_

It is a sin to wish that I were dead, I know, but sometimes that is exactly how I feel. Somehow it does help to know that I am not the only person to feel heartbreak.

I know Mama and Papa are worried about me. I've spent weeks up here in my bedroom, barely eating or drinking. Who can eat when they're in the depths of despair? Papa even came to visit me, he never comes in to my bedroom anymore. I sat and sobbed while he sat on the end of my bed.

I'm worried he may never come back, that I'll be an old maid now. I can see my life stretching out in front of me now, loveless and barren. It makes me so sad. I just wish he'd come back so we could talk. Please, please return John. I miss him so.

* * *

14 November 1840

40F  
Snowy

I woke up very early today. The house was silent, and I could see the very first rays of dawn on the horizon. I put on my warm coat and trudged through the snow to the barn to milk the cows. It was about time I started pulling my weight around here again. It wasn't easy though, because I kept running through the events of the last months in my head upsetting the cow. She kept kicking as I was clutching her teats too roughly. I had to suppress my feelings to save the milk. I think Papa was surprised and delighted to see me in the kitchen with a bucket of milk.

* * *

* I Do Not Love Thee by Caroline Norton  
** To His Coy Love by Michael Drayton  
*** Mariana by Alfred, Lord Tennyson


	5. Chapter 5

20 April 1842

Thomas Lynde proposed to Rachel yesterday afternoon, she rushed over to tell me this morning and of course I was very happy for her, I think some squealing may have happened. After she left, of course I was less enthused. In an ideal world that would have been me. As it is, all I get to do is watch her walk down the aisle and marry the man she loves.

Can I do it, dear Diary? Do I have any choice?

* * *

21 April 1842

No no no no no no no no. Rachel came over today to break some news to me. Not remotely surprisingly she asked me to be her bridesmaid and I replied that I was honoured to do so. But then she broke it to me that Thomas wants John Blythe to be his Best Man. Diary, my heart dropped, in fact I felt the bile rise in my mouth. We haven't spoken more than two words to each other since that day. I gave her my best smile and she hugged me and asked me if I were all right with it. Of course I said it was fine. I told Mama about it when Rachel had left. Mama hugged me, and I admit I wept. Mama consoled me saying I would be fine and the day would pass soon enough.

* * *

2 June 1842

Rachel is marrying Thomas Lynde tomorrow. Rachel is terribly excited. I am excited for her too. It must be a marvellous thing to be on the cusp of a new life. She will be a wife! That is a grownup sounding word. I do hope she will have some time to spare for her old friend. I expect she will be caught up in the romance. I love her so, but it is hard to watch her marry the man of her dreams. I should have been marrying mine. It doesn't help to be maudlin, but sometimes it catches me unawares and I find it helpful to write my thoughts down.

* * *

6 June 1842

I have been ill Dear Diary hence the delay in writing.

It was a joyful ceremony, tinged with sadness. John was Thomas' best man and of course I was Rachel's bridesmaid. Admittedly it was rather strange, but we were polite enough for Rachel and Thomas' sake. John has a new beau, a Caroline Gray. It is easier for a man to move on. There are more opportunities I suspect.

It was strange to be in such close proximity again. We had to dance together and I'm sure I could hear the old biddies murmuring around the hall. I couldn't help but think of other times dancing with him. Then the proximity was thrilling, now it was devastating. To be so close and yet so far. Our dance was over too quickly and yet not quickly enough.

Matthew asked me to dance, Matthew? Dancing? I could feel the weight of the music pressing in on my ears. All of a sudden the music was clanging and the lamplight was painful to my eyes. I only know this next bit from other sources. Apparently all the colour drained from my face and it was only because Matthew caught me, that I did not swoon to the floor. My darling brother picked me up bodily and carried me through the throng and out to the veranda. He asked Charles Andrews to fetch Mama and Papa. They came to my aid and drove me home. Matthew carried me up to my bed where I lay in agony for the next two days. I'm sorry I ruined their night and I was ill on my new dress. Mama had to ask Papa to help her get me undressed. She's trying to salvage it now, she says.

Rachel came to pay a visit before I was quite recovered. She had only been told of my distress after the event which is right and proper. I didn't want to ruin her big day. She told me what a wonderful night she had had, she barely noticed that I was gone from the hall and afterwards thought I must have been upset. She then went into a bit too much detail about her wedding night. If I were getting married soon, it would frighten me, and as it is it saddens me. She sounded quite delighted about the whole ordeal though. She admitted that it did hurt a bit, but that it didn't matter, being intimate with her Thomas made it all worth it. How nice for her.

* * *

1 August 1842

Dear Diary

I am torn. I do love Rachel but she has such a superior way about her these days. As though I can never know anything about human nature, as though a maiden must be ignorant. As though laying with a man changes everything. I offer an opinion on anything and she returns 'well as a married woman...' not only is it exceedingly annoying, it demeans me in every way. And yet she is mostly kind and I do feel as though if it were not for her, we would practically be hermits.

She paid a call today with exciting news. She is pregnant! I am so happy for her. She says she is exhausted all the time and that her menses has stopped, both symptoms of pregnancy, so she is pretty sure that's what it is. We hugged and she grimaced. As she recoiled she also admitted that her breasts were exceedingly tender. I do hope it all goes smoothly for her. I admit I would be excited but terrified too. Childbirth is a complicated time.

* * *

10 March 1843

Rachel is very large these days, her massive belly swollen full, as though not another morsel could fit within. It looks uncomfortable and indeed she is quite unhappy. Her entire centre of gravity has shifted and she leans backwards as she walks, her hand on her stomach rubbing it. She complains that it is itchy and she cannot get comfortable in the night. Mama says her time must be soon, I would go to help, but I'm ignorant in these affairs.

* * *

20 March 1843

Rachel was delivered of a baby girl this morning, Mama went up to help and I went to visit shortly afterwards as she was calling for me. She is such beautiful wee slip of a thing. Rachel says she wants to christen her Marilla, but I told her to do no such thing. No baby needs to be saddled with this ridiculous name, though I admit I was honoured when she suggested it. Instead they will call her Mary which is quite similar.

I marvelled at baby Mary when I held her in my arms, every feature is delineated so perfectly, her tiny ears have little tufts of hair on their tips, like a pixie. Her sweet little mouth pursed up, her beautiful blue eyes, her wisps of hair on her perfect little head. I bent my head and planted a tiny kiss on her little forehead. She is so precious.

I admit, Diary that I wept a little on the way home. I so wanted to have babes of my own, now it seems I won't.

* * *

14 July 1855

I found my first grey hair today when I looked in the glass. I must be getting old.

I went out for a walk and found a wild pink rose flowering by the roadside. It reminded me of a mere moment years ago when a certain young boy presented me with roses. I admit I shed a tear. That girl is long gone.

Reading you back dear Diary it would appear that I am always weeping. Of course that is not the case. I am involved with the town. I go to church, I shop in town, I attend The Ladies' Aid (though that is normally for married women). Rachel and I spend a great many hours together laughing and chatting often whilst preparing preserves. It's such a long and tedious chore that doing it together makes the time pass much easier.

I am worried about Mama and Papa they are slowing down and getting quite frail. I have taken over the cooking duties and Matthew does all the farm work now. We figured our parents were due a comfortable retirement after all their hard work over the years.


	6. Chapter 6

3 September 1856

Oh dear, Rachel's Katherine is unwell, scarlet fever apparently. To prevent anyone else from catching it, I have offered to have the children here at Green Gables. Matthew was hesitant, but I insisted.

It has been, shall I say, interesting to host them. My hitherto non-existent mothering skills have been put to the test.

They have been well behaved, but they are exhausting. I'm just not used to five raucous children at the dinner table. They chatter away and I try to keep up, but it is such a contrast to our normally quiet mealtimes, I'm up and down tending to them as they ask for things I did not predict. And oh my Lord, can they eat! I underestimated their appetite at our first meal and they had to fill up on bread. Luckily I had plenty and also I'd baked a cake that day.

The older ones are helping me with the younger ones. I must say I do appreciate it. The little twins, James and Davy are quite homesick.

I always wondered exactly what it was that kept Rachel so busy? Now I have a greater understanding. Motherhood is relentless, from keeping them fed and out of trouble, to tending to their cut knees, intervening in their inevitable tussles and providing hugs and kisses. After dinner Matthew reads them stories before bed, while I tidy up. It is almost impossible to keep a clean and tidy house as they tramp in mud and dust all day long. I have a renewed appreciation for Rachel's skills as a housekeeper.

I have been praying for Katherine, I do hope she will pull through.

* * *

4 September 1856

Katherine is still unwell. I sent Matthew down with a pie and he reported back that poor Rachel looks quite haggard. Having these children here is the least I can do and I'm getting used to having them underfoot, they are such sweet little things. I do hope the Good Lord above hears my prayers regarding Katherine. The children's prayers are so heartfelt.

* * *

8 September 1856

The doctor called again and was very grave. Little Katherine has a high temperature and is unresponsive. Rachel is exhausted and terribly upset as you would imagine. I believe the Minister also visited, I hope he was able to provide spiritual support in these troubled times.

I have been trying to keep the children busy, to keep their mind off their woes, but it is not easy. Little James asked me if his baby sister was going to die, and I did not know how to answer. I merely told him that God would look after her, either on earth or in heaven. I fear he was not mollified.

* * *

10 September 1856

My heart goes out to the Lyndes, Katherine died this morning. It is such an awful disease. I'm so relieved I could keep the other children safe from its insidious transfer. It really is quite contagious. I will keep the children here with us for a few more days to give my darling Rachel some time to recover; she needs to rest after her harrowing week. I can't imagine how gruelling it would be to watch your baby slip away despite your best efforts. I'm sending over some more food, she will have no spare energy for cooking.

* * *

12 September 1856

They buried little Katherine today. Her wee coffin was borne by just four men, though two could have done the job as easily. Thomas and Matthew and also her eldest brother John and John Blythe carried her for the last time. I tried to comfort Rachel in her distress, but her wail as they lowered the coffin into the grave will, I fear, stay with me for a long while.

Scarlet Fever is a terrible disease, poor wee Katherine. I will keep her in my prayers.

* * *

15 September 1856

I sent the Lynde children home today. Naturally they were quite subdued at the loss of their sister. I gave each one a hug and a kiss and told them to pop in when ever they liked. It's terribly quiet in the house without them, but it was time they went. They can grieve together now. Rachel and Thomas were pleased to have their brood back. Of course they are used to the rowdiness; their house must have seemed quite strange without them there.

Rachel hugged me and was very appreciative of my efforts. Of course I replied that it was our pleasure and it was, Diary dearest, an exhausting pleasure. I enjoyed having them around.

* * *

23 August 1866

Dear Diary

I found you in my closet today and realise it had been many years, almost a decade, since I last wrote. I suppose that's because really nothing has happened now for years. I get up, milk the cows, prepare Matthew's meals. Scrub, clean, bake or launder depending on the day and fall asleep only to do it all again tomorrow.

I catch myself thinking of myself as a young girl, what ever happened to that bright young thing? I've read my diary from the beginning and while I cringe a little at her infantile words, I do wonder where that girl went? With all her youthful optimism. However I can't bear to read of my courting days, it's just too sad, I skip those pages.

Now I look down at my work hardened hands, or cup my breasts with my hands (someone should do it, and no man ever has) before I get dressed in the mornings and think about where I went wrong.

I was too impetuous and stubborn that is for sure and certain. If I had just been able to laugh at him in that moment, I might have his hands running over my body instead of merely my own. I try to compartmentalise it, to put love away, it hurts too much, but it sneaks out now and again.

I think Matthew understands, but he is such a closed book these days. He works hard in the fields, comes in, washes, eats, and falls asleep in front of the fire. I honestly wonder what is in his mind day after day? Is it full of daring do's? Does he imagine another life for himself?

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of John and Caroline Blythe at church. They have a boy, Gilbert, now. He looks like a gorgeous scamp. My chest tightens queerly if I look too long. I do wonder why they only have the one though. Rachel thinks they've had problems. I wonder if she thought she was barren? Poor woman.

* * *

23 October 1868

I've been spending some time at Rachel's lately making preserves. Her cherry jam is delicious, but I think my plum jam is superior. Though I shouldn't boast.

At church I overhear them whispering behind my back, that I'm a dried up old thing now and so stuck up that no man would want me. For supposedly good Christians they are quite unkind. It has ever been thus. I should grin and bear it I know. That would be the Christian thing to do, to turn the other cheek. I find I cannot, instead I hurry away for fear I will say something I regret.

* * *

3 February 1874

I heard that John is unwell, consumption I believe. He plans to take Gilbert out west with him for the Prairie Cure; leaving Caroline to tend to the farm. I do hope he will be all right, even after all these years I do care for him. I suppose I must do the Christian thing and hold out an olive branch to Caroline at this difficult time. Though to be honest it sticks in my craw to do so.

* * *

4 April 1875

Matthew is not well. His heart is giving him some pain, we took him to the doctor who prescribed some drops. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to him. I would be all alone in the world and how could I manage Green Gables on my own? I pray the medicine helps, but he will have to slow down some.

* * *

3 May 1876

Dear Diary

Matthew spoke! Sometimes days, even weeks go by without so much as a word from him, but this time he initiated a conversation. My cutlery clattered down to my plate in shock. "I could do with some help around the farm. Maybe we could get a boy from the asylum." I looked upon him with horror, one hears such terrible stories about these asylum children.

On the other hand, my brother so seldom asks anything of me, or makes a pronouncement, so I heard him out and to be honest what he suggests has merit.

* * *

5 May 1876

After asking around, I heard that Mrs Spencer is fetching a girl from the asylum at Hopetown so I sent word via her niece to bring us a boy.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you to everyone who is reading, favouriting, following and reviewing _Marilla's Diary_ with particular thanks to _Excel Aunt, Elizasky, OriginalMcFishie, kslchen, Mrs VonTrapp, TLWtlw, AnneFans_ and _Chicken Whisper_ (I wish you would register Chicken Whisper, then we could chat).

As you might expect Marilla will be writing a fair bit more from now on. She doesn't know it yet, but something unexpected is about to happen.

* * *

20 May 1876

I'm sat here waiting for Matthew to arrive home with our boy. I admit I was quite apprehensive as he drove off. I pray we haven't made a terrible mistake. I pray that Mrs Spencer picked out a good boy for us, someone helpful and not too cheeky or lazy. We have no need of a boy like that. I don't want to go to all this trouble and wind up with someone who can't help us. Matthew will be very thankful for the help around the farm, that's for sure and certain. I made up a bed for the boy in the kitchen chamber, where I hope he will be comfortable.

As expected Rachel bustled up almost as soon as Matthew drove away, to see where he could be off to at this time of day. I admit it was unusual behaviour for him and it would be out of character for Rachel to ignore it. I was sitting in the sunshine. _I admit I'm never relaxed in sunshine, its too dancing and irresponsible a thing for the world which was meant to be taken seriously._ I had set the table for the men when they finally arrive home. Because the boy will be a part of the family though, I had just set out our normal plates and the crab-apple preserves and just one type of cake. I don't want the boy to think he's company.

I invited Rachel in and she sat down with an air of curiosity. She needs information like a woman starved. The look on her face when I told her Matthew had gone to fetch a boy from the train station makes me smile as I write. Rachel's turn of phrase was quite amusing, I will record it here for posterity, she said 'if Matthew had gone to Bright River to meet a kangaroo from Australia she could not have been more astonished.'

She set out all sorts of reasons why this was a foolish notion and told me all sorts of terrible stories to back up her assertion. Tales of strychnine in wells and houses being burnt down. I admit I have had my qualms, but I explained our thought process to her. I am sure she thinks we are insane, and that we should have consulted with her first. So she could have talked us out of the notion, but it is all too late. The boy will have arrived by now and Matthew will be bringing him home. I wonder what his name is and what he will look like? Will he have brown hair and eyes or will he be tow headed? Will his name be James or Robert or Charles? I know it's ridiculous to speculate, but I am curious. Most of Rachel's concerns involved girls misbehaving, and so as we are getting a boy, I feel we should be fine. I do wonder at Mrs Spencer getting a girl, but I'm sure she has her own reasons.

* * *

21 May 1876

Well can you believe it, I sent Matthew to Bright River to fetch the boy and he came back with a girl? I shouldn't say it, but trust Matthew to get it wrong. I suppose that's what comes of leaving it to others. We should have gone to the asylum ourselves.

Her name is Anne, I must say it with an E apparently, she was most insistent. She is a homely little slip of a thing. All arms and legs like a new filly and her hair is as red as carrots. She seems quite self conscious about it and we all know what they say about red heads. Anne could talk the leg off a donkey, I don't like children who talk so much, there's something I don't understand about her. She is always going on about some fool romantic notion or other.

Diary you should have heard her plaintive cry when she discovered we did not want her. She burst into tears right there and then. She is most dramatic in her ways. When I asked her name she requested to be called Cordelia, which is not in point of fact her name at all, but some ridiculous bit of nonsense her imagination has cooked up. Anne is a far more sensible name. She asked if she were beautiful with nut brown hair, would I keep her. I replied that it made no difference.

She could not eat her supper, I abhor waste of any type and made the mistake of querying why she was not eating, to which she replied that she was in the 'depths of despair'. My saints, she is a wonder. Though thinking about it, I have experienced that despair myself and it did nothing for my appetite way back then either. It wouldn't do to tell her that though. I must maintain my composure and set a good example.

Matthew was smoking that disgusting pipe of his when I returned back to the kitchen. I do hate that thing and the smell it makes. When I said as much, he replied that a man had a right to smoke in his own house when his mind was troubled.

I don't want to keep her, what would be the point? But Matthew is quite set, he seems smitten for some reason. It's probably a sin to say it, but its as though she is a witch and he has fallen under her spell. She certainly won't be solving any of his problems, she won't be much use around the farm, won't help with his heart. There is absolutely no reason to keep her, no reason at all. And yet?

No, I will take her back to Mrs Spencer, hopefully the asylum will take her back?

* * *

22 May 1876

Do you know, the strangest thing happened? I couldn't do it, I couldn't look into her green grey eyes and hand Anne over to that awful Blewett woman. She looked like a small creature who had escaped the frying pan only to find itself in the fire. Matthew says he wouldn't give a dog he liked to that harridan and for once I agree with him. I recall now that strange feeling when she put her hand in mine as we walked back to the carriage. I don't have a word for it, was it maternity? Is that what it feels like to be a mother? I've always felt close to Rachel's children, but nothing like this.

Anne told me a little about her childhood, it was such a sad little tale. Her parents died of fever when she was just a wee slip of a thing and she has grown up without her mother's love. Oh she did not say so in so many words, but listening between the lines, that was certainly plain. I feel quite guilty, I forgot that whomever we got would have a sad story, else they would not be in that situation. I must ask the Good Lord above for forgiveness for my omission.

I'll never forget the look in Matthew's eyes when we returned. I admit I snapped at him. I mean we are still stuck with Anne, she solves no problems for us and possibly brings a whole swag of new ones with her. I proposed a trial period to see if we all want to live together. She may not like living with two old people like us.

It doesn't make any sense to keep her, but I find myself listening to Anne's inane chatter, I do. She livens the place up, I had become so accustomed to the silence that I had forgotten how delightful constant talking can be. It hasn't been this noisy around here since wee Katherine Lynde was taken ill twenty years ago, goodness has it been that long? Matthew loves it, I can see. His eyes light up when she walks into a room and they follow her about. I suppose it might be nice to have her about the place. Anyway I'm giving her a trial to see if she fits into our quiet life.

I was quite dismayed tonight to find she does not pray before bedtime. The poor sinner has never been taught I suppose, it had not occurred to me that there was anyone who did not pray. It is just one of the many lessons it is beholden upon me to teach her. I told her quite sternly that she was required to pray while she lived under my roof and she was happy enough to do as I asked, though she asked for some assistance. Her prayer when it happened was one of the oddest things I have ever heard. I sat there trying not to laugh at her outlandish requests, but if she has never learned, how could she know what was appropriate?

* * *

23 May 1876

I noticed the flimsy dress Anne wears, it's far too small and looks as though she is not the first child to wear it. You can clearly see the numerous times it's been hemmed and let down. It won't do to keep her in it and in fact she is about to break the seams. I told her I would make her a new dress and she was so excited. Anne told me she had never in all her life had a brand new dress. My heart breaks a little every time more of her story leaks out. This poor unloved child, she deserves more.

Still, in typical Anne fashion she wanted more. Puffed sleeves indeed. I did not give in to that request, what a waste of fabric. I'm making her some sensible dresses for every day wear.

* * *

4 June 1876

It's terrible wicked of me to say, terrible wicked. But when Anne flew at Rachel for twitting her about her looks, I was laughing fit to burst inside. It's the sort of thing I've been dying to say to Rachel for many a year. She is opinionated and rude.

Rachel said she didn't envy me, attempting to bring Anne up. She suggested a whipping before I put her on the train back to the asylum. I declare I will be doing no such thing.

I'm going to have to iron out Anne's rough patches, though. This sort of behaviour won't do at all, but it was amusing. She's up in her room right now fuming, and she won't be allowed out until she agrees to apologise to Rachel.

* * *

5 June 1876

I'm still waiting. That child is as stubborn as a mule. It's awful quiet. I don't think it's ever been so quiet. Funny how quickly you become accustomed to a change.

Oops, I'll just go and fetch the milkers in . . .

* * *

6 June 1876

Finally, she agreed to apologise. I knew I'd be more stubborn than she. It was just a matter of waiting her out. I knew we'd get there in the end. Maybe I'm not so terrible at this mothering business after all.

* * *

7 June 1876

Well she is a card and no mistake. I've never heard such a dramatic apology as the one she made to Rachel. She got down on her knees and put her hands together as if she were praying. She had cooked up the most ridiculous apology I've ever heard. Silly Rachel was quite touched by it and forgave her at once. I was surprised she fell for it, hook, line and sinker, I gave Rachel, with all her experience with children, more credit than that. She must be out of practice.

This afternoon I gave Anne several tasks to finish, to gauge how well she worked. She seems smart enough, and obedient. She has a tendency to fall into daydreams mid task, but I suppose that is not the end of the world. Having seen her work, I decided to let her know she could stay. Immediately I did so, she burst into tears of happiness, or so she claimed. I do not understand anyone who wears their heart on their sleeve so.

Then came the matter of names. I told her she could call us plain Marilla and Matthew. Of course, being Anne, she immediately tried to take this further and call us Aunt and Uncle. I declined, saying that we are not her aunt or uncle and that I don't believe in calling someone a name that does not belong to them. She looked quite crestfallen, but is learning to call me Marilla rather than Miss Cuthbert.

I do hope it works out, I think we are doing the good Lord's work, harbouring this child. I have decided to keep her, I told Matthew as much and he was delighted. I have told Matthew that he is not to interfere with my parenting. I may not know much, but I daresay I know more than he could.


	8. Chapter 8

10 June 1876

I wasn't feeling well this morning, I could feel the threads of a headache forming across my temples. When I feel like that I'm best to stay in bed. Matthew knows I'm unwell if I don't make it up for breakfast. I told Anne she would have to go to church on her own.

This afternoon I asked Anne what she thought of it all and she declared that she didn't like Sunday School and she daydreamed through the prayer. She didn't think the minister was particularly interesting. I should be angry with her, but honestly I have to admit that I often feel the same way myself. She has this habit of voicing my misgivings; it is quite disconcerting.

* * *

15 June 1876

I told Anne to behave herself at church last Sunday. Apparently what I consider behaving yourself, and what Anne does, are wildly different; for she took it upon herself to stick flowers in her hat of all things. Rachel told me all about it today. When I took Anne to task for her behaviour she burst into tears. She is over dramatic that's for sure and certain. I don't mean to make her cry at the drop of a hat.

To change the subject and hopefully dry her tears, I suggested I introduce her to Diana Barry. Maybe Diana will be a steadying influence upon Anne? To my dismay that did not lift her mood, only altered it. In a mere heartbeat she went from heartbroken to anxious. She said, and I quote "What if she shouldn't like me! It would be the most tragical disappointment of my life." These long words sound so funny in such a little girl. I reassured her, I hope, when I told her Diana was a pushover, it was Mrs Barry she had to reckon with.

Eliza Barry is very strict with her children so I emphasised to Anne that she had to behave in front of her. Anne's startling speeches would not do in her company. Thankfully Anne did behave and Mrs Barry seemed pleased with her. I believe Anne may have bewitched little Diana because they are apparently 'bosom friends' already. Her talk for the next half hour was of Diana this and Diana that. I am pleased she has a little friend though. A girl needs a playmate. Matthew bought her some sweeties and I was pleased when Anne suggested she might share them with Diana. She's not stingy and that's a blessing.

I suppose we will be seeing more of the Barrys if the children are to be friends. I must say I find Eliza somewhat cold in manner. Though she might say the same about me, I suppose.

* * *

21 June 1876

Disappointed! I'm disappointed in her and I'm disappointed in myself. I didn't think she would turn out to be a thief. I thought I was getting through to her, so to find out that she stole my amethyst brooch just makes me so very angry. I told her just how precious it was to me and losing it in the pond just makes me feel terribly sad. I admit I'm at my wits end. I'm in two minds. Should I keep her or send her back.? This is a grievous sin, stealing is unacceptable. Well she certainly won't be going to the dratted church picnic. I could tell her confession was pre-prepared. Does she think so little of me that she feels this behaviour is acceptable.

I can barely write I'm so angry. Angry at her yes, but also angry I let her into my heart. The minister says the only people that can hurt you are the ones you love. Does that mean what I think it means? Have I fallen under her spell too? She has wounded me so grievously, and of course the lying about it is also awful.

Since keeping her in her room worked so well last time, I will endeavour to do it again. It seems the best way to get through to this child. Maybe Rachel was correct all along; we did do a mighty foolish thing when we let her into our house. I hate it when Rachel is proven right.

* * *

22 June 1876

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. I've made a terrible mistake. I wish I could tear out those previous pages dear Diary, I will keep them as a penance instead, though I cannot bear to read through them again.

After a restless night I left Anne in her room. I couldn't bear the sight of her. I was so angry I was shaking.

Anne made her confession at breakfast when I took up her tray. She told me in such a tone that I knew it was rehearsed, which made me angrier still. She told a long long tale about taking the brooch out and playing with it, in some long winded daydream and how it slipped out and fell into Barry's Pond. She seemed completely unrepentant and I admit I was as angry as I have ever been. A hot anger surged up into my heart, such as I have never felt before.*

Then of all things I noticed my brooch hanging by a thread on my shawl which I remembered needed mending. I was so shocked I staggered a little. Anne admitted to losing it, but on thinking, what choice did I give her? I didn't believe her when she told the truth, of course she had to make up a confession.

I'll forgive her for her untruthfulness. I do hope she can forgive me for doubting her.

She was delighted to be able to go to the picnic. I think I made a lifelong 'bosom' friend when I told her she could go, she flew into my arms and hugged me such as no one had for ever so many years. Having her describe the picnic to me afterwards was even better than going myself. Sounds like she had a wonderful time.

The lesson to be learnt here is that although Anne may make plenty of mistakes, she is not a wicked child. Her stories are flights of fancy, but ordinarily she will confess to the truth, rather than lie to keep out of trouble. I must remember that in future.

* * *

* I know how you feel Marilla, there's nothing like a kid to make you lose your temper. Welcome to motherhood.


	9. Chapter 9

1 September 1876

Despite my misgivings I've sent Anne off to school. She is such an eccentric girl. How will she get on with the other children? And how on earth will she ever manage to hold her tongue during school hours?

…

Well things went better than I expected. She returned home in high spirits. Trust Anne though, she was critical of the teacher, Mr Phillips. I don't send her to school to criticize her olders and betters. She must learn to master that tongue of hers. She filled me in with all the details of her day at school. She is upset that she is behind the other girls academically speaking, but how could it be otherwise given her background.

She is relieved though that her imagination is better than theirs. The things she considers important! One girl told her that someone else thought she had a pretty nose and she asked me my opinion. Of course, despite my thinking she has a beautiful nose, I could not tell her that to her face, so I told her it was well enough.

* * *

23 September 1876

Oh no, I wrote too soon! I have the basics from Rachel Lynde and Anne herself filled in the rest.

Anne told me when she returned home from school that she was not going to attend anymore. She claimed that she had been insulted whereupon I told her that was nonsense and she had to return to school the next day. "Oh no," she said "I'm not going back, Marilla. I'll learn my lessons at home and I'll be as good as I can be and hold my tongue all the time if it's possible at all. But I will not go back to school I assure you." My heart quaked somewhat at that, I saw her resolve. I decided not to argue with her at that point.

Instead I paid a call on Rachel. She of course, knew all about it. Anne cracked her slate over a boy's head, I believe it was Gilbert Blythe of all people; and the next day got into trouble for being late to class. It sounds like she was the scapegoat, as she was not alone in being late. Rachel advised me to humour Anne, she thinks she'll cool off in a week or so. _Or So_! Rachel thinks Mr Phillips was in the wrong, but of course we can't say that to the children. Rachel is sure Anne will go back of her own accord soon enough but forcing her to go back will only backfire. Interestingly she also commented that Mr Phillips is a terrible teacher, so Anne won't really miss out on any learning. She says he got his post because his uncle is a trustee, not because of any teaching skill.

Matthew rolled his eyes when I told him all about it. He is none too happy with the Blythe family in general, though that quarrel goes back too far for my liking. He needs to get over it.

I shall take Rachel's advice since I asked for it and let Anne stay at home until she changes her mind.

* * *

30 September

I found Anne crying bitterly by the east window. She told me some long winded ridiculous thing she'd imagine up about Diana Barry getting married one day and how much she already hated her husband to be. Whom, as far as I know she may not even have met yet, as she is about twelve years old.

I admit I laughed out loud. This child! Even her daydreams can make her cry. She is a card and no mistake. I'm sure I shocked Matthew who was passing by. It's not often I laugh, but Anne is so ridiculous sometimes.

* * *

7 October 1876

We had the Ross family to tea and what a disaster it was. Anne of course was the culprit. She forgot to cover the pudding sauce. When I went to serve the sauce to the Rosses Anne stood up and shrieked out "Marilla, you mustn't use that pudding sauce. There was a mouse drowned in it." I kept my peace until the Rosses left and then I scolded Anne for her carelessness. I do wish she wouldn't lose herself in those daydreams.

* * *

15 October 1876

My Anne revels in nature that is sure and certain. This morning she danced into the house with a bunch of leaves and declared she was glad she lived in a world where there are Octobers. Octobers of all things? What's the difference between one month and the next? She wanted to decorate her room with her untidy leaves, I couldn't stop her, but I warned her not to make a mess on the stairs or in her room.

I told her she could invite Diana to tea if she liked as I had a Ladies Aid meeting. I had my misgivings even as I said it. She was delighted with my suggestion and even declared that I must have an imagination to even suggest it. Fancy, me with an imagination. What is the world coming to?

Of course, being Anne, she had to request to use the rosebud spray tea-set which I declined. Though by way of conciliation I let her serve the cherry preserves as they are nearly going off, and some fruit cake and cookies and snaps. She is going to serve the raspberry cordial too. I left her to it as I got ready for the Ladies Aid and then drove off.

Anne told me this evening that the afternoon tea went by smoothly enough at first and they had a lovely time. Trouble started when she couldn't find the raspberry cordial though and had to search in the back of the shelf for it.

Anyway, Diana Barry drank three tumblerfuls of my raspberry cordial apparently declaring it far nicer than Rachel's which I will agree with, for what it's worth. Anne told me she was full of apples at that point and didn't want any. Anne tells me that after she told Diana about our disastrous afternoon tea with the Rosses, Diana declared she was dizzy and unwell and took herself home.

I came home after the Ladies Aid and Anne had tidied up the afternoon tea and had prepared tea for Matthew and Jerry and all was well.

* * *

17 October 1876

I spoke too soon. It seems I'm often saying that with Anne around. I sent Anne down to Rachel's on an errand and she came flying back in torrents of tears. Apparently, her afternoon tea did not go as well as we thought. Anne was so upset I had to get quite stern with her to get the story out.

Mrs Barry is telling anyone who will listen that Anne set Diana drunk on Saturday afternoon. I couldn't believe it, how could Diana get drunk on raspberry cordial? Poor Anne, it sounds as though she has experience of drunkards, she said as much about Mr Thomas.

I marched to the pantry and found the currant wine. Anne never tasted it and didn't know the difference having never tasted either of them before. Oh dear, I should have known that currant wine would get me into trouble one day. I shouldn't laugh about it. I suppose, really that was my fault, as I had forgotten that I had stored the cordial in the cellar instead of the pantry. Anne has borne the brunt of my mistake. I do wonder how Mrs Barry recognized Diana's symptoms, how many drunks has she come across in her time? I should think she'd be angry with Diana for drinking three tumblerfuls of anything, that doesn't sound very ladylike.

The upshot of it is that now she has forbidden Diana to associate with Anne. She thinks Anne is a thoroughly bad, wicked little girl. I know people will be down on me for making the currant wine in the first place. I told Anne I would go to Mrs Barry and explain the situation, I hope she will see sense.

. . .

Well that didn't work. Mrs Barry is adamant that Anne is to blame. She is the most unreasonable woman. She admonished me for making the wine in the first place and reminded me that I always said it wasn't particularly alcoholic. Well of course it wasn't ever supposed to be consumed in such quantities.

Anne had a go at getting through to Mrs Barry herself. An act which took some courage I'm sure, but it was to no avail. Mrs Barry's mind is set. I had to rebuke Anne for invoking the Good Lord himself in her criticism of Mrs Barry. I do declare I had a giggle with Matthew later about Anne's tribulations. When I saw her tear-stained face just now on my way to bed, I bent down and kissed her cheek. Poor wee soul.

* * *

18 October 1876

It's all over, according to my heart-broken Anne. She told me in some detail that Diana was allowed ten minutes to say her final farewell. Anne told me that she believes she will die of grief real soon and maybe then Mrs Barry will feel remorse for her behavior. I am coming to enjoy her ridiculous flights of fancy; they do keep me amused.

* * *

24 October 1876

To my great surprise this morning, Anne came down from her room with her basket of books and announced that she was returning to school. Rachel was right after all; all I had to do was wait and she came to it herself. Of course, she's going so she can see Diana, if not talk to her. I told her to avoid breaking slates over people's heads and to behave herself.

. . .

Anne told me she received quite a welcome when she arrived back at school from everyone except Diana. She is quite sorrowful about that.

* * *

25 October 1876

Anne told me that she received a note from Diana to the effect that Mrs Barry has forbidden Diana to play or talk with Anne. She isn't to take it personally though as Diana loves her quite as much as ever.

I'm sure she will get into more trouble before too long. Trouble always finds my darling Anne.

* * *

14 December 1876

Anne seems to be flinging herself into her studies. She is up at all times of the night and working during the weekends. I think she has a rivalry with someone at school, though she hasn't said as much to Matthew or myself. She is excelling at everything, but in true Anne fashion she declares geometry to be her Waterloo. Despite that, she is delighted to have moved up to the fifth class already. She has worked hard, and I am proud of her.


	10. Chapter 10

10 January 1877

There is great excitement in Avonlea this week. A group of us are taking a trip to see the Premier speak in Charlottetown. Even Rachel and Thomas Lynde who are Grits are going. It might prove slightly awkward as William and Eliza Barry are coming too. I haven't spoken to Eliza since she cut Anne out of Diana's life. Hopefully there will be enough people around so that I do not have to spend much time in their presence.

* * *

12 January 1877

I waved goodbye to Matthew and Anne with a light heart this morning as the Lynde sleigh carried me away. I doubt I will get another chance to see a real live Premier and a trip to Charlottetown is a wonderful opportunity. I hope it will be a lovely outing.

* * *

13 January 1877

Charlottetown was bedecked with bunting and was very merry. The mass meeting was loud with cheering citizens and our Premier spoke very rousingly. I was impressed with his oratory, though he obviously did not get his job on account of his looks. He is a very homely looking man, though I suppose it is wrong of me to say so. We stayed in a fine establishment. We enjoyed the sights of the big town and I had some time to do some window shopping.

I hope Matthew and Anne are getting on all right without me. So long as Anne hasn't got lost in one of her daydreams again and nearly burnt the house down, they should be fine.

* * *

14 January 1877

My Anne, a hero. Who could have ever imagined it?

According to Matthew and Anne herself they had quite an adventure whilst we were all away. Thank goodness for Anne's quick thinking and Matthew's dedication, though Anne was really the savior.

This is what Anne recounted to me:  
"Late last night the kitchen door was flung open by none other than Diana Barry in an awful state. Based on her description Anne surmised that Minnie May had croup. Matthew went to fetch the doctor. She's had experience with croup with Mrs Hammond's three sets of twins, which was a blessing. The girls quickly ran back to the Barry house.

Minnie May was very sick, her hoarse breathing could be heard throughout the house. Mary Joe was completely out of her depth and Anne immediately took charge, dosing poor Minnie May with ipecac all night long. Anne was awfully near giving up in despair. Minnie May got worse and worse until she was sicker than ever the Hammond twins were. Anne actually thought she was going to choke to death, but about three minutes later Minnie May coughed up the phlegm and began to get better right away."

The doctor told the Barrys 'That little red-headed girl is as smart as they make 'em. She saved that baby's life, for it would have been too late by the time I got here.'

We were all fortunate Anne knew what to do. I've never seen a case of croup myself.

Mrs Barry paid me a call while Anne slept, to apologise. I wouldn't wake Anne up, but I was delighted to convey the message. Eliza is sorry she acted as she did in the affair with the currant wine and she hopes Anne will forgive her and be friends with Diana again.

I'll never forget the expression of pure delight on Anne's face at this wonderful news. She begged leave to go over to Diana's straightaway without washing her dishes which of course I acquiesced to. Who could delay such a beautiful reunion? I told her to run along, and she was gone in a flash without a cap or a wrap. It'll be a mercy if she doesn't catch her death of cold.

She returned a few hours later with masses of happy news which she recounted in a happy tone. I have my girl back, she was so sorrowful at being unfairly accused last year. The Barry's treated her so sweetly that she said it must be lovely to be grown up. I'm not so sure about that, but I won't shatter her illusions.

I'm real proud of my Anne and I'm so happy she and Diana have rekindled their friendship.

* * *

10 February 1877

Anne and Diana have arranged a signaling system with candles and cardboard. She explained to me what their signals meant, but I can't remember all the details. So long as they don't set fire to the curtains, I suppose it's harmless enough.

In any case the news tonight was that Mrs Barry has invited Anne to a concert to celebrate Diana's birthday. I think it is a foolish idea to take small children out to such events. To my surprise Matthew stuck his oar in telling me I should let her go. I told him not to interfere, and he replied that he wasn't interfering as such, but that I ought to let her go. That man would let her go to the moon if she took the notion. I'm worried that she will get all riled up and probably catch a cold and be all unsettled for a week.

* * *

11 February 1877

Matthew still thinks Anne should go. My brother is nothing if not stubborn. Since they were both so adamant eventually I caved in. I take no responsibility if she is taken ill when she is away.

* * *

12 February 1877

Well I had the news of Anne's night from Rachel. After a lovely evening she ruined it by jumping on poor old Josephine Barry in her bed. Of all the things. Poor woman, that must have been traumatic for her. Rachel tells me she is pretty upset about it, and no wonder. I scolded Anne for her thoughtlessness and to her credit she said she would apologise though she is quite terrified by the thought of it.

While I am amused by her antics, all I said was I told you so, mostly for Matthew's benefit. If they had done as I suggested, no one would have got into any trouble at all.

* * *

15 March 1877

Anne has a new friend, Mrs Josephine Barry of all people. Anne told me she was a kindred spirit after all which surprised her to no end. It certainly surprises me, Josephine Barry can make me look lighthearted and gay.

* * *

20 May 1877*

Anne came to me declaring what an important day it was, and did I remember? Of course, I claimed ignorance when she informed me it was the first anniversary of her arrival at Green Gables. While I did not admit it to her, how could I forget? It's the day my life recommenced. I look back to the time before and inwardly shudder. I said as much to Matthew after Anne had gone to bed and we agreed that his decision was a sound one and the mistake was fortuitous. Neither of us can imagine life without her. I thought my heart had turned to dust, but Anne has reinvigorated it.

Being Anne though, the conversation took an amusing turn when I told her to run over to Diana's to borrow an apron pattern. She refused claiming it was too dark and then proceeded to tell me she has spooked herself by pretending the way is haunted and now believes her own imagination. Honestly this child has to be heard to be believed. I'll have to share this latest story with Rachel, she will be tickled.

* * *

30 June 1877

I returned Rachel's quilting frames this evening. I admit I've had them since I borrowed them last winter. I was pleased to make the acquaintance of our new minister and his wife. They are boarding with Rachel.

* * *

7 July 1877

Our previous minister, Mr Bentley resigned last February, he may not have been a particularly good orator, but he was ours for a while. We have had a succession of ministers to try out since then, but none have been quite right for our little community.

Anne of course has had an opinion to share with Matthew about each and every one of them. I have bided my tongue on the subject. Anne's reasons were as flighty as you might imagine, either they were not imaginative enough, or too imaginative, they told too many funny stories or were undignified, or even in the case of Mr Marshall too handsome and unattached, which according to Rachel would never do. Sometimes Anne and Rachel are too alike in their judgements for me to be entirely comfortable.

Anne approves of the man chosen, Mr Allan and tells me she has found a new kindred spirit in his wife, Mrs Allan. What a relief for all concerned.

* * *

14 July 1877

Anne is enjoying Sunday School with Mrs Allan. She says Mrs Allan encourages the children to ask questions which is perfect for my curious Anne.

I think I might invite them to afternoon tea. Anne and I decided to have them on Wednesday, but I cautioned Anne not to mention it to Matthew for he'd hide away. He might be able to cope with the minister but the lovely Mrs Allan will frighten him.

Anne asked to make a cake for the tea and I agreed; her baking is improving.

* * *

18 July 1877

I've been busy baking and preparing treats for our afternoon tea with the minister and Mrs Allan. Anne has been terribly excited, and I am keen to prove that we are not lacking in comparison with our neighbours.

Anne got up very early to bake her cake. She has a bad habit of forgetting crucial ingredients, but even if it doesn't rise, we have plenty of food to serve so it doesn't matter all that much. Anne wanted to decorate the table with ferns and wild roses of all things, which I think is ridiculous, but apparently Mrs Barry did likewise, I suppose it won't do to be outdone by the neighbours, so I let her get on with it. She did a pretty good job of it after all was said and done.

I was pleased that Matthew joined us. I don't know how Anne persuaded him, but he sat down in his Sunday best. He never said a word to Mrs Allan, but I guess there's nothing surprising about that.

Anne served her layer cake, Mrs Allan declined, which I could see made Anne quite disappointed. I told her Anne had made it and she said she would sample it. When she tasted it, a peculiar expression crossed her face, but she continued to eat. I was worried when I saw it and hastened to try the cake myself. It was horrible, I couldn't work out what Anne had done to make it so. When she showed me the vanilla that she had used I remembered that I had broken the liniment bottle last week and poured the remainder into an old empty vanilla bottle. I suppose it's my fault, I should have warned her. I'm surprised she couldn't smell it though. She said she had a cold and couldn't smell anything. She ran off crying at that, poor girl. I was about to go after her, but Mrs Allan told me she would go. Anne told me afterwards that she was very kind and understanding. Mrs Allan told Anne that it was a funny mistake that anyone could have made.

Anne hopes there are a limit to the number of mistakes a person can make, and that when she gets to the end of them they'll be over. I feel a bit guilty that I let her take the blame for the cake. Really, I was at fault. I'm in my fifties and I'm still making mistakes myself.

* * *

* Actually, it was June according to the book, but LMM didn't provide a date earlier.


	11. Chapter 11

24 July 1877

I do worry about Anne sometimes. Her mood shifts from the soaring heights on the back of good news and plunges down to terrible depths on the back of bad. She has been invited to tea at the manse with Mrs Allan. To bring her back to earth somewhat, I reminded her that Mrs Allan has invited all the Sunday School girls to tea, she is just the latest. But she would not be gainsaid. I told her to stop her flights of fancy regarding etiquette breaches, but rather to think of her host.

* * *

26 July 1877

I went to a most interesting Ladies Aid meeting today. All the talk was of Teddy Philipps' replacement. The trustees had to remove Teddy from his position as teacher at the Avonlea School for it appears that Anne's misgivings about him were correct. Teddy has been ignoring most of the pupils and giving all his attention, both academic and romantic, to Prissy Andrews. It is most irregular. It all came out just before the end of the school year. Mrs Andrews is most upset as you would expect. Mrs Sloane and Mrs Blythe were comforting her at the meeting. Rachel said to me on the way home that Prissy may have been flirting with Teddy somewhat, but that is no excuse. Teddy is a grown man and Prissy is merely a girl. If I were in Mrs Andrew's shoes, I would be most dismayed.

According to Rachel, who of course knows all; we are to have a new teacher, namely one Miss Muriel Stacey. I don't think we have ever had a female teacher in Avonlea before? Though there were years when I did not take much notice of the gender of the teacher. She has to be better than Teddy Phillips in any case.

Anne is most excited about this turn of events and is eagerly anticipating the commencement of the new school year.

* * *

27 August 1877

Oh Anne! She has gone and got herself into more trouble than ever before. She said it was a matter of honor that drove her to walk the ridge-pole of the Barry's kitchen roof.

I was out in the orchard picking apples when I spied William Barry trailed by a gaggle of girls and Eliza Barry. In his arms he carried my Anne as limp as ever you please. I admit I had a revelation in that moment. If I had asked myself prior, I might have said that I was fond of Anne, but seeing her lying so quietly in William's arms, it came to me that Anne is dearer to me than anything on earth. Fear stabbed my heart to see her laying there so. To my relief Anne herself answered my query as to what had happened. In typical Anne fashion she bid me look on the bright side, she said she could have broken her neck instead of merely her ankle.

I might have known something would go amiss when I let her go to the party, however, when I said as much she fainted on us. I sent Matthew for the doctor, who informed us that the ankle was broken and that she would be laid up for six or seven weeks. More than the inconvenience this will cause, I believe Anne is most upset at missing school and the delay in meeting her new teacher. Fancy doing something so foolish on the basis of a dare. I do despair of this girl sometimes.

* * *

30 August 1877

Rachel came for tea. She popped up to see Anne while I was setting out the tea things. I believe she told Anne she hoped she would be a better-behaved girl after her accident. Poor Anne as if she doesn't have enough to contend with? Lectures from your parents' well-meaning friends aren't going to make you feel any better about past mistakes.

Her visit to Anne notwithstanding, we had a nice tea together. Rachel is always good for news. With Anne laid up, it is pretty quiet around here.

* * *

13 September 1877

Mrs Allan paid another call today. Anne is of course quite smitten; a small crush perhaps? In any case I think Anne has good taste. Mrs Allan is a kind woman. Rachel thinks she dresses a mite too fancily for a woman in her position, but I disagree. A well-dressed woman is a pleasure to see about the place. I fancy Rachel would criticize the good Lord himself if he were to come back down to us. Oh, that's mean of me, I should strike it out.

We had a nice chat when she came back downstairs. We had a laugh about the liniment cake Anne served her the other month. Mrs Allan is settling down in Avonlea. This is her first posting as a minister's wife, as they have not been married long. I think they will be a breath of fresh air about the place and I'm real pleased they have joined the community.

* * *

3 October 1877

A glorious day, Anne was finally able to return to school. She has been very brave and borne her isolation with fortitude, but I know it has been a very slow and tedious recovery for her despite her ability to imagine the world away. She positively ran back to school to meet her classmates and more importantly to make her acquaintance with the new teacher.

It is very quiet in the house without her here. Yes, she has been ensconced in her room all this time, but I knew that if I needed someone to chat to, she was just up in her room. I got into the habit of taking my afternoon tea up there in the gable room with her. Of course, I'm delighted she has gone back to school, but I think I will miss our afternoon chats.

* * *

20 October 1877

Anne is positively blooming under Miss Stacey's tutelage. Sometimes I wonder at her methods though. Rachel says when she witnessed the school boys climbing to the top of the big trees on Bell's hill, her blood ran cold. When I questioned Anne about it, she told me they were looking for crow's nests, of all things. She has the students take physical culture exercises every day; apparently, they _promote digestion_. Fiddlesticks, I say.

* * *

22 October 1877

Rachel invited me to tea. We discussed the changes in the town in the last few months. She approves of the new Minister and his wife. His sermons are more interesting than Mr Bentley's and he is very involved with the community. We both agreed that Mrs Allan is a lovely soul.

We are less sure about the new teacher. She has many new-fangled ideas. She has proposed a Christmas concert to raise money for a school flag. We agree that this concert sounds like a waste of time. The pupils should be spending that time at their lessons, not gadding about racing about to practices.

Matthew, not surprisingly, is more indulgent. He thinks it will be a good concert and is just looking forward to seeing Anne up on stage. It's different for me, I take my responsibility as her parent seriously.

* * *

10 December 1877

I'm completely perplexed. Matthew went off to town today and bought back twenty pounds of brown sugar? It's not even good sugar. It's coarse and dark, such as you might give stock. He does worry me with his nonsense sometimes, he must have taken leave of his senses. What a waste of money.

* * *

15 December 1877

I had one of my sick headaches yesterday. There is nothing that can be done about them. I just have to take myself to bed for the day as usual and pray that Anne and Matthew can manage without me. Anne is getting on pretty well these days and can be trusted not to burn the house down most days.

I missed a Ladies Aid meeting which I was sorry about. I do enjoy getting to those, not least for the good work we complete, and I admit I enjoy the enervating talk too. Rachel usually fills me in on the news if I have missed a meeting, but she gives me the Rachel version of events and editorializes, which is not quite the same.

* * *

24 December 1877

We had a surprise visit from Rachel this afternoon, and just before Christmas too. Rachel came in bearing a big parcel for Anne she said. I was mistrustful, but Rachel said she had made a dress as a surprise for Anne. Matthew says he asked Rachel to make it for fear Anne would find out about it if I made it. I'm not sure that is the only reason. Anne has plenty of warm, serviceable dresses, this is just sheer indulgence. Rachel has made the dress with ridiculous puff sleeves, such a waste of fabric. I _know_ Anne will love it, she's been hankering after those sleeves since we first met.

* * *

25 December 1877

A beautiful white Christmas at last. We were fearful that it had been too mild for snow, but some fell in the night. I must say snow makes it feel more Christmassy.

I was filling the teapot, but surreptitiously watched while Matthew gave Anne her new dress. Anne was struck dumb looking at it; something I have never experienced. The dam broke however when a confused Matthew asked Anne if she liked it. Liked it, I should say she does. She clasped her hands and told Matthew it is perfectly exquisite. It is a ridiculous dress, all frills and furbelows and those sleeves! I will admit though, that Anne looks very fine in it.

After breakfast Anne flew out the door and met up with Diana Barry. Diana presented Anne with some slippers that Mrs Josephine Barry had sent. She is a very generous lady, I must say. Anne is lucky to have befriended her.

* * *

26 December 1877

Anne's concert was held last night, I was too tired to write about it until now.

It must be twenty years since I've been to a concert. Matthew was as proud as punch of our Anne and I admit I am too. Matthew commented that she may well grow out of the Avonlea school sometime and need more education. She's only thirteen in March, so there is time enough to think on that.

It has been a busy year that is for sure and certain. I can scarcely bear to think about our last Christmases, the ones before Anne arrived to brighten all our lives.


	12. Chapter 12

_I'm dedicating this chapter to the memory of my beloved dog Rogie who died of heart failure aged 10 last night. He was a really outstanding doggie and will be much missed.  
_ _He was always by my side when I wrote._

 _RIP_

* * *

31 March 1878

I received a letter from Josephine Barry. She said Anne had sent her some compositions from their story writing club and she had been tickled pink. They were most amusing, she says. Mostly I think Anne's compositions are nonsense, so I am pleased someone gets some pleasure from them. Josephine has always been enamored of my Anne, so that may have something to do with it.

I wrote her a letter back, thanking her for her kind thoughts and I sent her some of my cherry preserves.

* * *

27 April 1878

Anne is a card and no mistake green hair, of all things! I was about to punish her, but what would be the point? She is as abjectly pitiful as anyone I've ever seen. She is the one who will be most affected by her own stupidity. Green hair, green! She does make me laugh. There is never a dull moment hereabouts.

I admit I was angry though. I had walked home from the Ladies Aid feeling relief about the passing of winter and anticipating a warm spring. I was expecting Anne would have the tea set out and thinking how nice that would be. Unlike times before she arrived, when the house would be cold and dark when I arrived home after a meeting; but the house was dark, and the fire had gone out.

I thought she would be gadding about with Diana Barry, but I admit I got a little worried when she failed to appear as dusk fell. I took a candle up to her room to set it in the window and was shocked to find her lying in her bed, face downward among the pillows.

A more grotesque sight I have never seen. It's a queer, dull, bronzy, green with streaks here and there of the original red to heighten the ghastly effect. Well the pedlar who sold Anne the dye had one thing right. It is permanent, even if it is not black. We tried washing it, but in the end, I had to cut the green out. I'm no hair stylist, so Anne's hair looks pretty ragged right now. I have to laugh, though she is pretty miserable at present.

* * *

21 June 1878

Why is it trouble always strikes whenever I am away for the day? This time I had gone to Carmody to visit the doctor about my eyes. I have been finding it a strain to read and to do needlework at night, and my headaches are getting worse. The doctor suggested I see the ocularist about new glasses in the hopes that that might help. He also took care of my ever-wandering womb, so I was feeling particularly mellow when I arrived home, as I always do after that particular treatment.

Whilst I was out, Anne and her friends decided to act out a poem they have been studying at school this year, namely _Lancelot and Elaine_ by Tennyson. Anne, of course it's always Anne, played the part of the Lily Maid. Well not only did she ruin her dress, but Mr Barry has lost a flat.

The girls pushed Anne off from the bank and watched as she drifted off down the pond, Anne swiftly felt water around her and scrambled to 'safety,' namely the bridge piling. Fortuitously the Blythe boy, Gilbert, was rowing past. He was able to rescue her and took her back to the shore. She really was very lucky he came by when he did. I do hope she was gracious in her appreciation.

I asked Anne if she thought she would ever have any sense? She seemed to think she was improving. She hopes this will cure her of her romanticism. I have my doubts about that.

* * *

6 September 1878

Anne is spreading her wings as she grows up. I am not happy about her going out at all times of the day and night. Seems other folks are not as strict as I, but I do have standards for her. I think it is not seemly for little girls to be gadding about all over the island. Then of course she becomes miserable as she feels she is missing out.

* * *

15 September 1878

Eliza Barry paid me a call this afternoon. I asked her in for tea. She told me that she had a letter from Josephine Barry, she has invited the girls to Charlottetown for the Exhibition. I was not sure, but Eliza assured me they would look after her, and of course Josephine is a good friend to Anne. I suppose it would be all right if she went. It will be terribly quiet around here without her.

* * *

20 September 1878

Anne left bright and early this morning. She prepared breakfast for us all but declared that she was too excited to eat. I'm pleased I let her go, she is thrilled. We waved goodbye to the carriage, then turned and looked at each other a little sadly.

The house is so deathly quiet without her. I had forgotten how she livens the place up. Even if she is out, we know she will be in for tea, but not tonight.

Matthew and I had a quiet dinner, I did some sewing by the fire, until my eyes grew tired and then I retired to bed.

* * *

24 September 1878

She is home, I do fret when she is away. She told me all about the Exhibition in great detail. It seems Avonlea was well represented.

I cooked her a broiled chicken for her homecoming. She says she had a wonderful time, but the best part about it was coming home. That did warm my heart, I must say.

* * *

3 November 1878

Miss Stacey paid a call this afternoon with some amazing news. She told Matthew and me that she is very impressed with Anne's body of work this year, she says Anne is one of the most talented students she has ever taught and that she should be encouraged to take her education further.

If Anne is interested, Miss Stacy would like to invite her to join the further study class for the Queens entrance exam. Our Anne, a teacher? Fancy that. When I think of how she struggled when first she arrived her, and how few opportunities she had before. I am so very proud of her. Though I know we will miss her dreadfully when she leaves us as I'm sure she will eventually.

* * *

13 November 1878

The Ladies Aid are coming to Green Gables tomorrow, as it is my turn to host. I have been baking and cooking for days. I'm serving boiled tongue, sandwiches, two types of cake, raspberry tarts and my famous plum puffs. I would prefer to serve my black currant wine, but after Anne's fiasco, I will serve raspberry cordial instead, as well as tea and coffee of course.

* * *

14 November 1878

The Ladies Aid went very well. I permitted Anne to stay and she was very helpful, taking ladies' coats and serving afternoon tea.

I sent Anne out after everyone was replenished so that we could talk in private. In any case adult conversation is not very interesting to the young. We had a lively discussion about our next project. We have decided to hold a bake sale to raise funds for the church benefit society. We will hold the sale just before Christmas. Everyone was most excited about this project as Mr Allan informed us the other day that he wishes to help the poor at Christmas, always an expensive time of the year.

Talk turned to the Boyd family. Mr Boyd has been hurt at work and cannot earn. Mrs Allan asked us to all contribute a small amount to help the family out. It is only by the grace of God that we are not in this position ourselves. If anything should happen to Matthew I would be quite destitute. I do worry about him; his heart is a concern.

* * *

A/N I had a friend who tried to dye his red hair black once for a joke, it backfired on him too. You can't dye red hair black.


	13. Chapter 13

Some rather worrying and sad times approaching. Thanks for reading, following, favouriting and reviewing. I don't think Marilla is as stern as people think.

* * *

7 April 1879

Another sick headache felled me yesterday. I don't have to describe how very awful they are. I am completely at their mercy when they strike. I still feel tuckered out today, but thankful that Anne is mature enough to take over the housekeeping duties and care for me _in extremis_. She tended to me very carefully and quietly. I don't know what I'd do without her.

* * *

12 April 1879

Our usually bright and sparkly girl was in a foul mood today. I don't know what's gotten into her. I politely reminded her to finish the dishes before bed; and she was slamming them together in the sink. I had to chastise her a couple of times for fear she'd break one. Eventually to our relief she stormed up to bed. I don't know what that was all about? Matthew tried to have a chat, for sometimes he is better than me at getting through to her when she is upset; but even he couldn't placate her.

I went to see the oculist today. He has prescribed me some new glasses. Hopefully that will help with my close eye-work at night and my subsequent headaches as he thinks the two are related. I accompanied Matthew to the doctor, who gave him some new drops for his heart. I want him to start taking it easier, but that is not in his nature.

* * *

13 April 1879

Poor Anne, I'll never understand why it's taboo to prepare our girls for menses. You never think they're ready for the information. Then before you know it, they're downstairs washing out their sheets in a complete panic. I felt the same way myself when it happened to me. Anne was convinced she was dying, it took me a fair while to talk her down.

I had to fetch her some spare rags, show her how to affix them to her undergarments and how to wash them afterwards. Not surprisingly she was aghast. I don't blame her, it's a nasty shock to find you'll be bleeding for a few days each month for the next 40 years. I explained to her that it meant she was growing up, it was perfectly normal and that one day she'd be able to have babies. I don't think she needs to know how just yet, so I left it at that. I'll explain it all much later, before she gets married. Though I only know the basics myself, of course. I know Rachel revels in that talk, but I'd rather spare future Anne from that particular lecture.

Matthew came in whilst all this was ongoing, but as it is women's business I ordered him out. He caught a glimpse of the mess in the tub and scurried away; pleased I'm sure to leave it all to me.

* * *

16 July 1879

Anne has studied hard all year long and is taking a much-needed break. She tells me she has packed her books away for the summer. She believes this may be her last chance to be a little girl. It sounds like she has a busy, social calendar all worked out with birthday parties, picnics and concerts. I do so love to see her having such a wonderful time, it reminds me of my own childhood.

Miss Allen paid me a call and I served afternoon tea. She is a nice woman; Christian but with a kind sense of humour. I do enjoy her company. I know Anne often confides in her and I can understand why. We talked about Anne of course and her studies. I told Mrs Allen I was not always sure about Miss Stacey's teaching methods, but Mrs Allen told me they were wonderful and well suited to someone of Anne's nature. She is getting on well, that is for sure and certain, so maybe there is something in what Mrs Allen says.

* * *

20 July 1879

Matthew is not feeling well, his heart is worrying him. I don't like to leave him when he's in this condition. I bade him stay in bed and tended to him instead of going out to the Ladies Aid. We sat together while I read Bible passages out loud. I do find that comforting when I'm feeling unwell. Though it doesn't help when I have a headache, I must admit.

Even though I am worried about him, it was a lovely day. It's not often we spend time together during the afternoon. Anne was out and about, so it was just the two of us. Matthew felt a bit guilty at his enforced rest, but he has no choice. Anne and I attended to the livestock in the evening, everything else just has to wait.

* * *

21 July 1879

Matthew went back to work today. The doctor said Matthew must be careful to avoid excitement, which should be easy enough for my quiet brother. Though he also told Matthew to avoid heavy work and that will prove more problematic. I told him to ask around for a man to assist him with the farm work.

Rachel paid me a visit to enquire why I did not attend the Ladies Aid yesterday. I told her that Matthew was suffering from these heart pains more often and how anxious it makes me. Rachel stayed to tea and filled me in on all the news. Anne served us some hot biscuits which were delicious and so well made, even Rachel praised them. Anne's baking has really come on in the last few months. I smile when I think back to her earlier baking mistakes. Somehow, I find I miss that little girl.

As I accompanied her home, Rachel complimented Anne. She mused that she never thought she'd amount to anything when they were first introduced. She reminded me of the way Anne flew at her the first time they met. Apparently, she went home and told Thomas that I would rue the day I took her in. But she is happy she was mistaken and will own up to it. That is mature of her, I admit.

I was pleased to hear her comment on Anne's appearance. Of course, I think she is stunning, but I admit to being biased. Rachel says she doesn't usually like the pale look, but Anne makes her contemporaries look overdone. Despite, in her opinion, not being quite as good looking.

It made me feel happy to hear my often-judgmental friend voice her opinion in favor of my Anne. Am I vain to say so? Maybe. Still it is a far nicer feeling than being embarrassed at her antics.

* * *

1 August 1879

Anne is having a marvellous summer and I am glad of it. The Spencervale doctor sent me a message a few weeks ago that he thought Anne need as much time in the open air as possible. I admit that frightened me, it sounded like a predestination of consumption. As a result, I let her go free. She's been walking, rowing, berrying (best of all, she brings them home to make pies) and dreaming to her heart's content. It makes Matthew and I happy to see her so joyful.

Sitting by the fire last night Matthew commented on how Anne is growing up. Simultaneously it seems hardly any time and yet ages, since she came to live with us. We both agreed that while we adore the woman she is becoming, all tall, stylish and beautiful; we rather miss the odd little girl she used to be. She certainly swept in like a whirlwind and livened this old place up.

* * *

3 September 1879

After her glorious summer, Anne looks much healthier and is ready to tackle her studies once again. Her preparations for Queens will keep her busy, I am sure.

She did amuse me today. She had such a serious face when she said that there's something about Rachel's very piousness that makes her want to be wicked. I admit I had to laugh, for all too often Rachel makes me feel the very same way. Anne always has such a way of voicing my very deepest thoughts.

* * *

13 December 1879

I got rather maudlin this evening as I reflected on how Anne is growing. She's fifteen years old now and taller than me. I love her so much, but I find I do miss the little girl who has vanished and been replaced with this gorgeous creature.

Matthew caught me crying over it, such an indulgence. I know I shocked him. She'll be away from us next winter and I'll miss her terrible. Matthew comforted me, saying she would be home often, but it won't be the same thing as having her here all the time. Men are so practical, they can't understand some things.


	14. Chapter 14 Excerpts from Matthew's diary

With thanks to **OriginalMcFishie** , **Excel Aunt** and **Elizasky**

 **Excerpts from Matthew's diary**

* * *

21 July 1880

Sunrise 4.40 am  
Sunset 8.00pm

Temperature 32 - 82  
Rain 2 inches

My smart girl is on tenterhooks. She's been haunting the post office looking for the results of her exams. I'm sure she will do just fine, she's so clever. She is worried sick. I suppose I would be too, not that I ever sat as big an exam as this or thought to.

I had to slaughter one of the steers today. It's ridiculous even after all these years, it's still a job I detest. They're such sweet beasts, my cows. Even though we need the meat, I hate to kill them.

* * *

28 July 1880

Sunrise 4.50 am  
Sunset 8.00pm

Temperature 56 - 69  
Rain 0 inches

She passed! She did better than pass, she came first! First out of all the applicants! My clever clever girl. We are both so proud of her. She found me in the hayfield below the barn and exclaimed "Oh Matthew, I've passed and I'm first – or one of the first." I always said it, I knew she could beat them all easy.

My darling sister tried to hide her pride, probably not wanting to look proud in front of Rachel Lynde who was also there. To her credit, Rachel's commented "You're a credit to your friends, and we're proud of you." I know Marilla feels the same way. Of course, I am just bursting with it, I can't wipe the smile off my face.

* * *

5 August 1880

Sunrise 5.00 am  
Sunset 7.40pm

Temperature 65 - 82  
Rain 0 inches

Anne is to recite a poem at the White Sands concert tonight. Marilla made me laugh. Diana led Anne down to show her dress off to us. Marilla ever the Queen of doom-saying told Anne she would get her dress dirty. I could see her smiling as she walked to the kitchen. Secretly she thinks she's very beautiful, but she cannot force the words out. That's always been her way. I wonder if Anne knows how much Marilla loves her?

* * *

6 August 1880

Sunrise 5.00 am  
Sunset 7.40pm

Temperature 58 - 73  
Rain 1 inches

Anne's recital went very well, and they asked her to perform an encore. She told me all about it over breakfast this morning. She was terribly nervous and was struck with stage fright. My Anne frightened of performing? I can scarce believe it. If it were me of course, I'd be struck dumb and never move forward, but then I'd never find myself in that situation, thank goodness.

Anne told me she was introduced to a rich American lady and a professional elocutionist, whatever that is? Later they had supper in the hotel's beautifully decorated dining room. She told me though, that for all the finery and pomp and circumstance, she'd rather be at home with us.

* * *

28 August 1880

Sunrise 5.30 am  
Sunset 7.00 pm

Temperature 44 - 71  
Rain 0 inches

The womenfolk have been getting Anne ready to leave for Queens. Even Marilla has been quite involved sorting out her wardrobe. We mean to make sure our girl looks quite as fashionable as anyone.

Marilla bought Anne a pretty light green dress which matches her hair. She modeled it for us in the kitchen tonight and recited _The Maiden's Vow_ for us. To our astonishment tears came to Marilla's eyes. When Anne enquired, she hastily told her it wasn't because of the poetry. She just recalls, as do I, the little girl who arrived here all those years ago. To my surprise Anne sat on Marilla's lap and told us she wasn't a bit changed, not really. " _It won't make a bit of difference where I go or how much I change outwardly; at heart I shall always be your little Anne, who will love us both more and better every day_." Marilla was speechless and just hugged Anne tight. I admit I had to go out, I didn't want my girls to see me crying.

 _Anne's smart, pretty and loving too. She's been a blessing to us and there never was a luckier mistake than what Mrs Spencer made. Though it wasn't luck, it was Providence, because the Almighty saw we needed her_.

* * *

5 September 1880

Sunrise 5.40 am  
Sunset 6.45 pm

Temperature 58 - 76  
Rain 0 inches

I drove Anne into town today. I dropped her off and hugged her tight. She will be home next weekend, but I'll miss her terrible until then.

The house was, if possible, even cleaner than ever when I got home. You can always tell when Marilla is upset, the house gets a good going over. I fancy I could hear her sobbing as I climbed into bed.

The house may be clean, but it's oh so quiet. Anne would often be out these days, of course, but we knew she'd be home at one point or the other. The bed would always be slept in, even if she were out to a dance or a ramble in the woods, not so now. She's busy at college, I wonder if she has time to think of her old folks back home? I believe she means to finish her degree in double quick time. It sounds like a great deal of work. I hope she can manage it.

* * *

8 September 1880

Sunrise 5.40 am  
Sunset 7.40 pm

Temperature 53 - 69  
Rain 3 inches

We had a letter from Anne today. She said she was lonely at first, but soon found some of the other Avonlea girls and is meeting new friends. Anne recounts that she Josie Pye found her first. Those Pyes! Josie apparently told a boy that Anne was adopted, and nobody knew very much about what she'd been before. I did laugh when Anne wrote that she wasn't sure if she'd rather be alone than with Josie.

The Avery Scholarship has been endowed to Queens College, Anne writes. She is going to try for it, to make us proud. That would be all well and good, but she doesn't need honors to make me proud. I'm already as proud as I ever could be.

I've been busy with the harvest. The air is full of dust which makes my eyes water. This happens to me every September. I had to take it easy during the afternoon, as I ran out of energy.

* * *

10 September 1880

Sunrise 5.45 am  
Sunset 6.35 pm

Temperature 49 - 63  
Rain 0 inches

Anne came back for the weekend, we were so pleased to see her. Marilla, of course, was quite short with her. She just welcomed her in as if she'd been out for the afternoon. I knew better though. I fancy I saw a tear in her eye. I suspect Anne wasn't fooled either.

It was lovely to catch up on all Anne's news. She's been making all sorts of new friends and is loving her classes. She has quite a bit of work to do this weekend, she'll be busy as she also wants to catch up with friends.

I can't describe how wonderful it is to have her back in the house, even if it's only for a short while; just to see her sitting at the kitchen table when I come in from the barn lifts my mood. I don't think I can bear to say good bye to her again tomorrow.

I put on a man, Martin, to help me around the place. It is strange to have help, I've always been independent. But Em nagged me to find someone. I guess it's a good thing.

* * *

20 November 1880

Sunrise 7.20 am  
Sunset 4.35 pm

Temperature unknown  
Rain 0 inches

I'm supposed to be resting, I took a turn yesterday and Em has ordered me to bed. Guess this body of mine is getting old. I hope I live to see Anne happily married, maybe meet her children? She deserves a normal happy life after her tough beginning. She never told us much but reading between the few lines she's given us in snippets, I gather it was terrible. I gaze at her, my little dryad, and wonder what the world holds for her? Avonlea seems too small for one such as her, with all her big dreams.

Did I make a mistake when I fetched her from the station all this years ago? Em certainly thought so at the time. But I couldn't foresee a life without her. I should have told her then that there had been a mistake, but I admit I was too cowardly to break the bad news to her, Em handles those things better. I suppose it would have been kinder to do so.

I loved her from the first moment I laid eyes on her. With her striking red hair alabaster freckled skin and large gray eyes. I just knew immediately she had to stay. Our drive home from the station still stands out as one of epochs of my life, as my Anne would say. I don't think she drew breath. But she didn't need much from me, I could just drive and listen.

Oh dear, Em just poked her head in and chided me for sitting up writing, rather than resting. I just had to get these thoughts down though, I'll rest in a while.

As stern as Em may appear to some, I know she is a big softy at heart. She expresses her love through work: cooking, baking, sewing and housework; rather than words. It's as if she's afraid that if she openly compliments Anne a disaster will befall them both; so she thinks one thing and says another.

Soft emotional words don't come easy to her, haven't for a long time. Maybe because the last time they were expressed it didn't go so well for her. Her heart was broken, some might say irrevocably, when John Blythe walked out of her life. Strong emotions bubble to the surface on very rare occasions, but are usually buttoned down tight.

I certainly know she longed for bairns of her own. Watching Rachel Lynde have so very many was hard. I remember holding Em as she wept, wishing she could hold those little slips of humanity, provide nourishment from her body. I really can't ever forgive John Blythe for leaving her bereft like that. Though if she had married him, what would have become of me? Its selfish of me to say it, but I would have wound up all alone here at Green Gables.

Em tells me it's time to move on with regards to the Blythe family. Anne has had some run-ins with their boy, and I hear her half mention his name on occasion. He is pushing her academically which is a good thing, I suppose. But I don't know, I couldn't bear to see her heart broken as Em's was those many years ago. I think I might do someone a mischief if that were to happen again.

* * *

7 January 1881

Sunrise 7.50 am  
Sunset 4.45 pm

Temperature -4 - 8  
Snow 5 inches

No Anne this weekend. It's too cold and snowy for the children to get through; they are stopping at Queens. Anne writes that she has plenty of study to keep her occupied in any case, much as she misses us. I had really come to rely on her coming home on the weekends, now I will have to adjust once again. I know Em misses her something dreadful too. We chat about what she must be up to, though of course neither of us has much of a clue. I hope she is not studying too hard, she must make sure to take some time for fun as well. I'll remind her in my next letter.

Not much farm work in these bitterly cold months. The stock is safe in the barn and we just have to keep them fed and wait for the spring.

* * *

5 May 1881

Sunrise 8.00 am  
Sunset 4.40 pm

Temperature 36 - 46  
Rain 2 inches

I've been worried about Em. She's been suffering from some bad headaches. The doctor thinks it's her eyes. I guess we're both getting on.

Not too long left in the school year. We haven't heard so often from Anne, she's too busy studying for exams. I know she'll do well.

With the weather warming up, Martin and I have been busy sowing a new crop of potatoes.

* * *

7 June 1881

Sunrise 4.20 am  
Sunset 8.00 pm

Temperature 36 - 66  
Rain 2 inches

Our Anne passed, she passed! I knew she would. She wrote to say she was desperately worried, she wasn't sure she had passed at all. She told me in detail where she had gone wrong. I couldn't understand any of it, thank goodness I've never been examined.

She didn't merely pass of course, she won the Avery Scholarship - $250 a year for four years at Redmond College, fancy that. Our Anne! Marilla is so proud, we toasted our tea cups when word reached us. To think that little girl who looked so small when first we met has now been honored so, it's quite an achievement.

Rachel was up today saying she was worried about the Abbey Bank, I find it a worry too, all our money is tied up in that bank. If anything were to happen we'd be destitute despite all our hard work. Em wanted me to put the money in the Savings Bank, but old Mr Abbey was a great friend of Papa's and he always banked with him, so I stayed with them out of nostalgia. I hope I did the right thing.

* * *

14 June 1881

Sunrise 4.20 am  
Sunset 8.05 pm

Temperature 39 - 57  
Rain 0 inches

I paid a visit to the Abbey Bank today to check that our money was safe. They assured me that all was well.

* * *

15 June 1881

Sunrise 4.20 am  
Sunset 9.10 pm

Temperature 38 - 62  
Rain 0 inches

Anne invited Em and I up to Queens for Commencement. It was a grand hall, I felt quite out of place even in my Sunday best. Naturally we only had eyes for our girl. I whispered to Marilla after she had read her essay out loud "Reckon you're glad we kept her?" and she waspishly replied "It's not the first time I've been glad. You do like to rub things in Matthew." I grinned, I do love to tease that sister of mine.

We took Anne home afterwards. She hasn't been here since April. I know she was happy to be home, she told me so in her usual romantic way. She's full of ambitions about Redmond College, but for now she's still my girl. I know she means to have a wonderful summer gamboling about Avonlea. It's been hard this spring without her. It really lifts my spirits to see her here. I'm so happy she came back to us.

* * *

17 June 1881

Sunrise 4.20 am  
Sunset 9.10 pm

Temperature 54 - 61  
Rain 0 inches

This evening I had a lovely chat with Anne. She has grown up, I felt proud to walk beside her as we led the cows, though she makes me feel old. She looks so young and lithe and I feel so old and decrepit. She told me I should take it easier, but I find I cannot. She said that if she had been a boy she could have helped out in so many ways, I don't know why she goes on about that all the time? She must feel guilty somehow. I never wanted any boy, I only ever wanted her. She's made me so proud with all her academic success, but even without that and before, I loved her so very much. I can't imagine a life without her, who wants a boy, when you have Anne?

* * *

 **An excerpt from Anne's diary**

18 June 1881

Dearest Diary

 _All Things will Die*_

 _Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing_

 _Under my eye;_  
 _Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing_

 _Over the sky._  
 _One after another the white clouds are fleeting;_  
 _Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating_

 _Full merrily;_  
 _Yet all things must die._  
 _The stream will cease to flow;_  
 _The wind will cease to blow;_  
 _The clouds will cease to fleet;_  
 _The heart will cease to beat;_  
 _For all things must die._  
 _All things must die._  
 _Spring will come never more._  
 _O, vanity!_  
 _Death waits at the door._  
 _See! our friends are all forsaking_  
 _The wine and the merrymaking._  
 _We are call'd–we must go._  
 _Laid low, very low,_  
 _In the dark we must lie._  
 _The merry glees are still;_  
 _The voice of the bird_  
 _Shall no more be heard,_  
 _Nor the wind on the hill._  
 _O, misery!_  
 _Hark! death is calling_  
 _While I speak to ye,_  
 _The jaw is falling,_

 _The red cheek paling,_  
 _The strong limbs failing;_  
 _Ice with the warm blood mixing;_  
 _The eyeballs fixing._  
 _Nine times goes the passing bell:_  
 _Ye merry souls, farewell._  
 _The old earth_  
 _Had a birth,_  
 _As all men know,_  
 _Long ago._  
 _And the old earth must die._  
 _So let the warm winds range,_  
 _And the blue wave beat the shore;_  
 _For even and morn_  
 _Ye will never see_  
 _Thro' eternity._  
 _All things were born._  
 _Ye will come never more,_  
 _For all things must die._

He is gone, he is gone. Our darling Matthew, brother, father, dearest one has passed away.

I am heartbroken. He was my rock, the first father I ever knew. He was always on my side, he persuaded Marilla to let me stay all those years (too few years) ago. He always had a soft word, a gentle look. I could confide in him, he listened to my girlhood babbling with an easy ear. I wonder if he knew how much I appreciated the first beautiful dress he bought me. No one had ever spent any money on me or given me anything new or pretty. Marilla made me serviceable dresses, practical dresses, but Matthew got me that beautiful, impractical dress because he knew how much I pined for it, because he liked to see me looking pretty.

If I had been the boy they were expecting, I could have spared him hard labour and perhaps he might have lived, but then I would never have met him. I don't think I was going to last long at the asylum.

Marilla took his death hard. _Hard_. It was as if all the emotion she has bottled up these last fifty years came pouring out in a torrent. I've never seen anything like it, in fact, it was a little frightening. She gave a terrible wail of anguish, such as I've never heard before, and hope to never hear again. Thank goodness Mrs Lynde was with me. I absolutely understand, they have been together all these years. But she has always been so undemonstrative, I think we forgot that Marilla really did have strong emotions.

I've been concerned about them both. I felt they both looked so much older when I returned home. Marilla's headaches have gotten worse and Matthew was suffering with his heart. It did make me worry. We think that life freezes when we go away; and that when we return it will resume right where we left it. But that is not the case of course. Life goes on even if you are not there to witness it.

Last night Matthew told me how much he loved and adored me. He wouldn't have exchanged me for a dozen boys. I will miss him so very much. Life will never be the same again.

Marilla heard me crying and crept in to comfort me. She said " _There – there – don't cry so, dearie. It can't bring him back. It – it – isn't right to cry so. I knew that today, but I couldn't help it then. He'd always been such a good, kind brother to me – but God knows best_." And then to my surprise she said _"I know I've been kind of strict and harsh with you maybe, but you mustn't think I didn't love you as well as Matthew did, for all that. I want to tell you now when I can. It's never been easy for me to say things out of my heart, but at times like this it's easier. I love you as dear as if you were my own flesh and blood and you've been my joy and comfort ever since you came to Green Gables."_

I admit, I did always wonder if Marilla loved me as well as Matthew. I hoped she did, but she never said it outright. I guess she expresses herself differently than him. We hugged each other then and cried together too. She was wonderfully comforting, and I hope I was to her too. We have each other now.

* * *

18 June 1881

M

* * *

19 June 1881

Matth

* * *

. . .

* * *

. . .

* * *

. . .

* * *

23 June 1881

Matthew died. He left me. My lifelong companion left me. He was always such a good brother to me.

I've been too distraught to write before now. I tried, as you can see by my earlier entries, but the words and my pen failed me.

I saw him collapse over the doorway and cried out, but it was too late. We fetched Rachel. I fear I was no use at all, being in complete shock. It was as if a dam of repressed emotions poured out of me.

They put me in bed - at least that's where I woke up later - I have no recollection of it. I just know I woke up in my night gown, so someone must have helped me, Rachel I hope. I awoke to Anne crying and crept into the little gabled room to comfort her. I was finally able to express my heartfelt love for her. I told her she was my joy and comfort and we wept together. Maybe it's sinful to cry so? God knows best, but sometimes we can't help it. We are only human after all.

Rachel and Mrs Allen bathed Matthew's body and had him placed in his coffin. He looks so peaceful there. I should have done it, but I was insensible. They told me it was their honour. The pantry is full to overflowing with food our neighbours have provided, bless them.

We found Matthew clutching a newspaper with the devastating news that the Abbey Bank had failed. The doctor always told him to avoid excitement, and he did his best, but this was too much.

I don't know what I'll do this year? Anne will be away to Redmond and I will be here all alone.

* * *

* _All Things will Die_ , Alfred, Lord Tennyson

AN: The sunset and sunrise times have not been adjusted for daylight saving, which was introduced in 1915 or thereabouts.


	15. Chapter 15

_Thank you for your responses to my last chapter. It's always sad to lose such a wonderful character, of course you got to know him just before he died. It's probably mean of me to say, but I was pleased I made some people cry. Obviously I did something right if I provoked that sort of response (Unless you were crying at my terrible writing – grins)._

* * *

25 June 1881

We buried my beloved brother today. Anne planted a cutting from the old white rose bush that he loved so by his grave. Mama brought it with her from Scotland all those years ago. Funny, once upon a time I would have thought Anne ridiculous for that gesture, but now it brings a tear to my eye. Still, it would never have occurred to me to do it.

Reverend Allan conducted the funeral service and did a lovely job. He quoted Matthew 11:28 _Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest_. It made me feel quite weepy, yet I am happy he is in God's loving arms. Anne and Rachel comforted me, I am so lucky to have them both by my side as I grieve.

It seems awful quiet here without him, which is an odd thing to say really, as it wasn't as though he was a boisterous man. Still he was always here – always.

* * *

29 June

I know Anne misses Matthew dreadfully. I saw Mrs Allan today, she tells me Anne feels quite disloyal when she finds pleasure in the world, when he no longer can. Mrs Allan counselled her about it, saying that Matthew loved it when she found pleasure in the small things and he wouldn't want her to be miserable now. I'll tell her the same thing, we will mourn him, but we mustn't forgo pleasure in life henceforth. He wouldn't want that.

Anne found me sitting on the front door step as dusk descended. She had placed sprays of honeysuckle in her hair, she's still got something of the young girl in her, I'm pleased to say.

For the first time I mentioned my long-forgotten courting disaster to Anne. She had never heard that story before, fancy that? I'd have thought someone, Rachel maybe, would have told her by now? I spied young Gilbert at church. He's growing up into a fine young man, he so resembles his father at the same age.

Dr Spencer called by today to inform me that the eye specialist will be in town tomorrow and he insists I go in and have my eyes examined. Anne told me I can trust her to look after the place while I am gone. We had a laugh about some of the queer antics she used to get up to all those years ago. I used to think she was possessed.

* * *

30 June 1881

Bad news, I'm afraid. As if this isn't a painful enough time as it is; according to the eye specialist I have to give up all reading and sewing or any kind of work that strains the eyes, or I shall be blind in six months. I am determined to keep writing my diary though; I'll just have to write in the good afternoon light, rather than wait 'til bedtime.

I know I shocked Anne with the news. It took her a little while to recover and then, in typical Anne fashion – bless her - she started looking on the bright side. I'm not convinced though. Even if I don't go blind, I'll still be here on my own. Maybe it's odd to say it, but I feel quite alone without Matthew here. I'm not lonely, but he has ever been by my side and now he is gone, there is no one left who knew me as a child, it is a queer notion. I admit I'm feeling rather maudlin about it all.

* * *

1 July 1881

I don't know what to do? Should I sell Green Gables? I certainly don't want to, but I can't see how I can continue alone, particularly with my eyes they way they are. I had a chat to Rachel about it. She had no answers, but leant a sympathetic ear. '

I'm rather worried about Thomas Lynde. He seems very low these days. I mentioned his state to Rachel, but she just brushed me off, saying he was fine.

* * *

5 July 1881

Mr Sadler came by today. He heard on the grapevine that I planned to sell Green Gables and wants to buy it. I admit selling the property is the last thing I want to do, but I can't see how I can survive here on my own with no money. The property would just go downhill without anyone to look after it. If I do lose my sight, I'll be worse than useless. It's best to sell now while I can still get a good price for it; though it breaks my heart. I guess I'll have enough to board with Rachel. The specialist warned me against crying, but I admit I broke down then. I hate to sell my beautiful home.

Anne really shocked me when she declared that she wasn't going to Redmond. I was totally against her plan, but when she explained it to me, it did make sense. She's not going to take the Avery Scholarship, instead she's going to teach at the Carmody School and will come home every weekend. She's already spoken to Mr Barry who has agreed to rent the farm for another year. If we can make that happen, perhaps we'll survive, and I won't be so lonely.

I am torn though, the Avery was such a wonderful opportunity for her, and now she has to stay here and look after me. It doesn't seem fair to tie her down. On the other hand, I am sorely tempted by her kind and generous offer. I was dreading selling Green Gables and this might just save it. She's sixteen now and I can't force her to take the scholarship. So, I guess that's that.

* * *

15 July 1881

Rachel paid us a call last night, as usual she was the bearer of tidings, glad this time. She found us sitting in the warm dusk by the front door. Anne likes the scent of mint in the dewy air and I admit it is rather delicious.

Rachel's pleased Anne has decided against further education, that she surely had enough by now and that she didn't believe in women getting too much learning. Anne assured her that she would be studying at home, Rachel was aghast; she's worried Anne will kill herself with the effort.

Next, she had some exciting news to share. Anne's plan to teach at the Carmody school has been thwarted. Gilbert Blythe has withdrawn his application to teach at the Avonlea school so Anne can have the job. Instead he is going to teach at White Sands. That is a real sacrifice on his part, we know he needs the money too.

Anne ran off down the slope to tell Diana the latest. Rachel turned to me and commented that there was a good deal of the child about her yet. I retorted that there is a good deal more of the woman about her. Rachel took her leave shortly after that and I watched her walk down the lane back to Thomas. Sometimes I wonder what she says to him about me?

Later I saw Anne with a young man, I couldn't see who and she lingered with him for a long while before coming in. When she finally arrived home, I asked her who it was, and she informed me that it was Gilbert Blythe. I never knew they were such good friends.

It has been a busy month, I'm so happy things seem to be settling down. I admit I got a shock when Matthew passed, I thought I was going blind and I'd have to sell the farm, but maybe God heard our prayers, and all will be well.

* * *

3 August 1881

I'm away to East Grafton to see my ill relative. Mary Keith was married to my third cousin. She's not well and is finding caring for her two six-year old twins quite a chore. Poor woman, her husband died while the children were quite young and now she's quite alone. She wrote me asking for some help and I am pleased to offer what assistance I can. I'm leaving Anne in charge of Green Gables. I know I can trust her these days.

* * *

4 August 1881

Well, I never. I am so pleased I came to help. Poor Mary is not coping at all well. The children, Davy and Dora are keeping her busy. Dora is a sweet little thing, but Davy is full of mischief.

I gave the house a good cleaning and filled the pantry with pies and cakes. I had brought some preserves, just as well I did; for the pantry was empty when I arrived. I feel I provided some assistance. My word though, she has her hands full with those children. I don't envy her.

* * *

5 August 1881

Green Gables is always such a welcome sight after one has been away. Thank goodness I didn't have to sell it. I would have been terribly sad.

Anne rushed over as I drove in, some issue with the cow and our new neighbour, Mr Harrison. From what I hear about Mr Harrison he is an unconventional fellow and somewhat ill mannered. Anne would do well not to make an enemy of him.

* * *

7 August 1881

Uh oh. Anne sold the Jersey cow, but as it turns out she sold Mr Harrison's cow not ours. Ours was safely locked up in her pen. Now Anne will have to incur Mr Harrison's wrath.

* * *

8 August 1881

Anne bravely marched up to Mr Harrison's property and told him the whole story. She said his parrot kept interrupting. Mr Harrison isn't angry at all, and has agreed to take our cow. Though really, I think it was his fault all along. Why Anne should have to give him her cow, I'm not sure? Still the deed is done.

* * *

13 October 1881

I went to visit Mary Keith again today, the poor woman she is declining. I can't see her lasting much longer. I don't know what will become of the twins?

Mary had hoped her brother would take them, but she had a letter from him and he is 'shacking' out West, whatever that means, and cannot take the children until spring.

I have a terrible suspicion she wants me to take the children off her hands. I don't know, I'm torn. The children certainly need a home, but they are fearful responsibility. Twin six-year olds will be a trial just when I've got Anne reared and all. Can I face going back to the beginning, or before the beginning even? I know Anne will be gung ho for it, but she will not be around all the time, she'll be off living her life, and I'll be left holding the babies, so to speak.

From what I've seen of them, they've had next to no rearing. Dora seems quite meek and mild, but I don't know about Davy? Have I got the energy to raise him single-handed? There's no one else available though. Despite the fact that our relationship is tenuous, I find I feel myself responsible for them. It's a dilemma that's for sure and certain. If Matthew had still been alive, it would have been different; but as it is, I'm not sure I can manage.

* * *

26 November 1881

Poor Mary Keith succumbed the other day. I'm going to East Grafton for her funeral. Such a sad, short life. I suppose I'll have to bring the children back to Green Gables. It may only be for a short while, until their uncle can take them off my hands. I suppose we'll manage, God willing.

* * *

A/N The new cover photo for this story is a photo of my great-Grandparent's wedding.


	16. Chapter 16

14 December 1881

I'm at my wits end. This boy! I thought Anne was a trial; Davy is something else altogether. The Keith children have been with us for nearly a month now and this is the first moment I've had to sit down with a cup of tea and gather my thoughts.

Their poor mother, Mary, was too ill, too exhausted to take Davy in hand. Maybe I was foolish to think I could change him? He may be the death of me yet.

Our first week together is one I'll not forget in a hurry; though truth be told the subsequent ones have been no better, maybe I'm getting accustomed to Davy's excesses.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Davy Keith burst into Green Gables like a whirlwind. I knew he'd be a handful, I had met him after all, but I had hoped that he might settle down after a couple of days. I can see now that I was terribly naive.

Thank goodness I have Anne here to help, I honestly don't know how I could cope without her? She has a wonderfully calm way about her when I find myself losing my temper, which achieves nothing. I really am powerless against him.

Dora on the other hand is a sweet quiet girl. Really his complete opposite. I do hope she comes out her shell eventually. Her personality is completely swamped by his.

Even our trip back to Green Gables was a trial. Davy seems to be possessed with a passion for perpetual motion. Try as I might I was unable to contain him, and I spent the journey in agony lest he fall over the back of the wagon and break his neck, or tumble over the dashboard under the pony's heels.

Then when I threatened to whip him when we got home, what did he do but climb into my lap, fling his grubby arms about my neck and hug me? He declared I didn't look like the whipping type. He's an astute judge of character for all his wild ways, for I never could whip Anne and I doubt I'll be able to whip him either.

And the questions, my Lord the questions! Anne says his inbuilt curiosity is a wondrous thing. I allow it is too, but they're exhausting. He wants to know everything, at the most ridiculous times. Just as I'm putting him to bed he wants to know why cats have whiskers? Why the moon is a different shape each night? Where does the dark go? or How deep the well is? It goes on and on.

I thought a trip to church would be safe enough, but Davy dropped a fat hairy caterpillar down Lauretta White's dress causing a great upset. I saw him do it, but I was too slow to prevent it. What is the most distressing thing is his lack of contrition. In the case of the caterpillar incident, he merely said it was a shame to waste such a juicy specimen.

Anne attempts to reach him by looking for his inner gentleman. I must say his is very inner. If there's any gentleman to reach it's buried deep, deep down. He is thoroughly boy all the way down.

* * *

17 December 1881

Poor Anne, all her efforts at improving Avonlea have been torn asunder. She and her chums spent so long raising money to paint the town hall. Now they find out that the green paint that was ordered was confused with blue paint. Mr Joshua Pye just commenced to painting it without regard and now the hall is a bright blue color. Anne feels like she is the one to blame, though I believe it was the Pye's fault. Rachel declared she exclaimed "Gracious Providence" when she clapped eyes on it and that it was the combination of the blue walls and the red roof that makes it particularly hideous. I admit it is rather, um, striking.

Rachel and I had a good laugh over it, but I mustn't let on to Anne, she is mortified. We must just hope that the paint fades to a more acceptable colour over time.

* * *

19 December 1881

Goodness, I'm writing later than usual today, it's bad for my eyes, I allow. But I must put pen to paper. I find my diary as useful as ever these days. If I record my thoughts I can read them back again for perspective. Maybe one day I'll be able to laugh at Davy's antics. Though I can't imagine I'll ever find today humorous.

Dora absolutely disappeared without a trace today. I had been to Rachel's during the afternoon as her Thomas was taken ill all of a sudden. When I left Dora was playing with her doll in the kitchen and Davy was making mud pies behind the barn.

When I returned Dora was nowhere to be found. Of course, I interrogated Davy, but he stoutly declared that he had no idea of her whereabouts and that he hadn't seen her since I left. I had just finished searching the house when Anne returned from school, she looked so happy when I spied her, but I was in a state, I must confess. She said afterwards that I looked wild-eyed.

I should have known Davy was at the bottom of it, he seemed altogether too cheerful, but I couldn't believe even he could be quite so wicked. After a thorough search all around, and even after we asked Mr Barry to drag the well, there was no sign of her. Thank goodness she was not at the bottom of the well though. That was an experience I hope never to repeat.

Finally, as it was apparent that she was not at Green Gables, I suggested that perhaps she had gone over to Mr Harrison's as she has been fascinated by his parrot. Anne reported afterwards that there was no sign of her at the Harrison's house, and in fact that there was no one home at all, only the parrot shrieked and swore, but between his outbursts Anne heard a plaintive cry from the tool house.

It was Davy after all. The little sinner had tricked Dora into entering the tool shed and had locked her within. We are both terribly disappointed with him. Anne soothed poor Dora and got her into bed. I on the other hand had to go and find Davy who had lit out for the stable. I found him cowering in the darkest corner therein. I deposited his cobwebby self on the mat and sat down by the window. We quizzed him, and he said he did it for fun. For fun! We dragged the well because he thought it was too quiet around here. I don't know about this boy at all.

On discussing it through with Anne it appears he never knew it was a sin to tell falsehoods, but the boy knew he was in the wrong, else why did he run away when we were about to locate Dora? Still I suppose his mother was too ill to train him properly, so he is not completely to blame. We must assume he is totally ignorant and start from scratch.

* * *

Anne has just come down after putting Davy to bed. Much to my surprise she sat down and laughed. I enquired as to what was so funny, as I couldn't think of anything amusing about my day. Anne recounted Davy's words, that he thought I was a worse sinner than he. I had told him last week that something terrible would happen if he didn't say his prayers, so he hasn't been and apparently since nothing bad has happened, therefore I must be lying. He does have a queer way about him.

I admitted to Anne that I feel quite discouraged. She reminded me that she herself had been pretty unruly when she first arrived. I don't think she was ever anything like this. Anne thinks they should go to school, but my Papa said no child should be cooped up in a school until they turn seven and Mr Allan agrees, so they shan't either.

Do you know Anne said the strangest thing to me after that, and for all its queerness I declare I understand her; she said she likes Davy better than Dora. For all his faults there's something lovely about the little rascal. For all that Dora is so perfect, she's too good somehow. There's nothing we can do to improve her. Maybe Anne and I like a project, Davy will provide us with a little (make that large) challenge.

Funny looking back, I was complaining that it seemed so quiet hereabouts after Matthew's passing. I'll never complain about that again, assuming I ever get the chance.

* * *

20 January 1882

I went to town to visit the lawyer today. After witnessing Matthew and Mary's deaths, I felt it was important to make sure my will was in order. I will be leaving Green Gables or the proceeds of its sale to Anne, on the proviso that she look after Davy and Dora.

We introduced Dora to young Minnie May Barry yesterday. The girls ran off giggling, leaving Eliza and I to take tea together. It reminded me of the day I introduced Anne and Diana.

After we arrived back home, Dora climbed into my lap, much to my astonishment, to thank me. She clasped her hands around my neck and kissed my cheek and earnestly said that she and Minnie May have promised to be each other's best friends for ever and ever. Not quite as dramatic as Anne's exhortations about her friendship with Diana Barry all those years ago, but sincere nonetheless. She has needed a friend like Minnie May, she reports. I am pleased we could supply one. She will need a good friend around as a foil to her brother.

* * *

25 January 1882

I visited Rachel today. I'm rather worried about Thomas Lynde. I asked Thomas himself, in his usual quiet manner, he told me he was just a little tired these days. Afterwards as we took our afternoon tea, I could see him nodding off on the sofa. Maybe we've all gotten old lately? Though I don't have the luxury of taking an afternoon nap with young Davy around, I admit there are times when it would be nice. I don't dare leave them unsupervised.

I was thinking the other day about the sacrifice that young Gilbert made swapping his teaching role for Anne's so that she could stay here with me. Thank goodness he did, I don't think I could have managed the twins on my own. When I think of the two of them together I am reminded of my time so long ago now with Gilbert's father. I wonder if Gilbert is aware of our past?

Anyway, I see Gilbert and Anne together at times and I mind my time with John Blythe. It's ridiculous, it was all such a long time ago. But, I can't help my brain, it will go back in time to reminisce, to remember walks in the rain, picnics on the beach, dances, and yes even stolen kisses.

It hasn't been such a bad life, I guess. But I can't see it being the sort of life that my Anne would enjoy. She needs more romance in her life. I hope and pray she receives it one day.


	17. Chapter 17

_Thank you for reading and for all your reviews, particularly my lovely guest reviewer, how nice of you to say._

* * *

4 February 1882

I must say I am enjoying having Anne here teaching, she brings back so many amusing anecdotes from the classroom. For instance, she was trying to teach addition and said, 'If you had three candies in one hand and two in another, how many would you have altogether?' The child replied, 'a mouthful' and apparently, a glacier is a man who puts in window frames. Mind you she gives me a start every time I hear her cackle in her room after school. I worry sometimes that she might be going insane, then I remember where she's been all day and relax. She struggles to keep a straight face while she's teaching and has to let the humour out when she comes home. It makes for amusing dinnertimes, I must say.

* * *

8 February 1882

Anne looked quite shocking this morning. She said a toothache kept her awake all night. I cooked her breakfast, but we missed her usual bright sunny face. I worry when she's miserable, it's unlike her.

She told me once she got home for lunch that it was a Jonah Day, a day where nothing goes right. She thought one boy was passing cakes around the classroom, and told him to throw it in the fire. Unfortunately the package contained fireworks, not cake and the parcel blew up in the stove causing a great upset.

Unfortunately, when she got back to the classroom after lunch, her day did not improve. Her nemesis, Anthony Pye, a boy who has caused her great consternation since she began teaching, placed a live mouse in her desk drawer. She has been adamant that she would never resort to whipping her students, in the face of much opposition, I must say. Mr Harrison, in particular, told her that it was an effective remedy for poor behaviour, but Anne was determined not to resort to it. She was quite distraught when she returned home, she shut herself in her room and wept. I could hear her sobs downstairs, so I went up to see what all the fuss was about. I'm pleased she finally did whip the child though and told her 'You take things too much to heart, we all make mistakes – but people forget them.'

I smiled at the story of her afternoon, it did sound funny when she told it, but I knew she was miserable at her, as she thought of it, mismanagement. After a cup of tea and some of my plum puffs she felt a bit better.

I hope after a good sleep tonight she will be back to her old self.

* * *

12 February 1882

Rachel came up today and told Anne that whatever she did, she's won Anthony Pye's respect. Apparently, he's been telling anyone who would listen that Anne whipping was 'just as good as a man's'. Anne feels that's a not much of a validation.

I admit I am hard pressed to ever whip my children and Anne is softer hearted than I. So it's no surprise she was so unwilling to whip the boy.

* * *

5 May 1882

Anne and her friends found Hester Gray's garden today. I remember poor Hester. Such a sad tale. Anne reports that the garden is just beautiful. Funny to think of it flourishing long after Hester has passed on.

I found myself thinking of my darling Matthew today. It's nearly a year since we lost him. Goodness how time flies. He was such a quiet presence around the place, but when he did speak it was always worth listening to. Only Anne and I really miss him, I suppose. Life just settled back into its groove after he passed, but we often share little remembrances. In a way, he's still here, in our memories at least. Even now, I keep expecting him to wander out of his bedroom, scratching his head; or to see him smoking by the fireplace. I never could abide that pipe, but now I find I miss the smell.

* * *

12 May 1882

I had an appointment at the ocularist today. Wonderful news, all my hard work has had a remarkable affect. There's been a great improvement and he thinks the danger of my losing my sight has past. I'll never be able to read at night or do fine handwork again, but that is a small price to pay.

Rachel is organising The Ladies' Aid fair. She loves nothing better than a good project like this. She can stick her nose into everyone's business, oh but that's uncharitable of me, I shouldn't say that. Rachel is a wonderful woman, who does so much good in the world. But it is true to say that organisation is her forte.

Anne bought home a letter from British Colombia, from the twins' uncle. I was excited to see it, but I never like to show my emotions. It's strange, when I'm like that my curiosity emerges as waspishness. The news was unexpected, he can't take them as he's been sick most of the winter. I suppose I sounded upset to Anne, but I am really very relieved.

I feel we are finally getting somewhere with them, well I say them, but of course I mean Davy. I've been teaching them hymns and catechism. Dora of course learns hers meekly, but perhaps without much deep understanding. Davy, naturally, asks a great many difficult questions which we are hard put to answer with or without a straight face.

* * *

1 July 1882

I attended a Ladies' Aid Society meeting at Mrs Jasper Bell's. It was an altogether dignified event as we discussed the Fair preparations. I chuckled when I recalled the time I hosted shortly after Davy and Dora came to live with me.

I had Dora sitting inside with the ladies in her nicely starched white dress and black sash. I let Davy outside to make mud pies in the barnyard. When Anne came to call the Ladies to tea she found Dora was nowhere to be seen. Mrs Jasper Bell said Davy had come to the front door and called her out. Anne and I decided to let Dora have her tea later.

Tea was half over when the dining room was invaded by a small damp figure. Dora in her drenched dress was dripping dirty water all over my new coin-spot rug. Dora announced that Davy made her walk the pigpen fence, but she fell off and the pig ran over her. Davy's attempts to clean her up under the pump made matters worse. I took a very damp Dora upstairs to dress her in her old, but clean and warm, clothes. Davy was caught and sent to bed without any supper. It was mortifying, I'm sure we were the subject of gossip all around town.

* * *

21 August 1882

I have been teaching Dora to cross stitch. Anne complained that she found sewing didn't provide much scope for the imagination, but there is something in the very nature of it that appeals to young Dora. She is a lovely sewing companion, quiet and biddable. The two of us spend many happy hours in companionable silence as she stitches away. Of course, I am forbidden to stitch myself, but I see my younger industrious self in her. Away from her boisterous brother, her shy nature is quite sweet.

Dora is never happier than when she is helping out. She feeds the chickens, wipes dishes, picks peas, and runs all manner of errands for me. She's neat, faithful and observant, which is a blessing in one so young. Rachel would probably think me mad when I say I do fear a little for her though, she is too good, I think a small child needs a bit of rebellion.

They're chalk and cheese these twins.

I saw Gilbert Blythe pass by Green Gables the other day. He looks so manly, tall, frank-faced with clear straight-forward eyes and broad shoulders. He's as handsome as his father was at that age. I admit my breath caught when I saw him looking towards our place. He could have been John coming to court _me_.

Gilbert and Anne have been keeping up with their studies together. They are often to be found either in our parlour or the one at the Blythe's place. They seem to study well together. I bring them in tea part way through their session and they might be discussing Virgil or some other poet. It's all Greek to me, as they say.

* * *

14 June 1883

I made the mistake of asking Davy if he really wants to be good, I don't know why I get caught up in these ridiculous conversations with him, they never go as planned. This time he said he did want to be good, but not too good. He added that the Sunday School superintendent, Mr Bell is a bad man. That he had said he was 'a vile worm and a miserable sinner and guilty of the blackest 'niquity.' I was literally saved by the _bell_ as fortunately Rachel turned up at that precise moment. I do wish Mr Bell were not quite so figurative in his petitions.

I promised Dora a trip to town with Rachel and myself. Rachel declared that today would be the day as Thomas is feeling better for the time being. She means to make the most of this window to leave him for the day. I'm bravely leaving Davy at home and he promises to behave himself. I pray he does so. He is helping Mr Harrison haul dulse this morning, that should wear him out somewhat.

Rachel and Dora had a nice little chat as we drove to town. We enjoyed the sights and I bought some cotton for a new dress for Dora and some new clothes for Davy as the twins are growing fast. Dora requested that we stop at a café for lunch. She sat very politely and enjoyed an iced treat. I thought about what a mess Davy would make in the same situation and thanked the Lord we had left him at home. He is a good lad, but we have to know his limits.

Sometimes I think about their life before. It was not as grim as Anne had it for sure, but still the two of them in that house with their perpetually ill mother must have been very bad. No wonder dear Davy is such a ragamuffin. It's a wonder Dora turned out as she did, really.

Anne's nose looked quite pink when we returned home, but I never got to the bottom of the reason.

* * *

3 September 1883

My goodness but it's quiet here today. School has opened, and the twins have started their education. I forgot how much noise they make - Davy makes. He's in and out all day long with his 'I want to know's.' Last week he asked 'Where is sleep. I go there every night, but where is it?' he has such a curious way of looking at the world.

Anyway, although I was very much looking forward to a day alone, I found myself missing them. I baked a nice plum cake for afternoon tea. Davy spent a good while telling me all about his day. He thinks school is great fun and made a new friend, one Milty Boulter, brother of Tilly.

I wonder, should I have sent them to school earlier? Well what's done is done.

* * *

4 September 1883

Dora likes school too, but much to our surprise when I told her to go upstairs last night, she burst into tears. She said she was frightened of the dark. Anne of course was far more sympathetic than I. She soon got to the bottom of it. Seems Mirabel Cotton was telling Dora ghost stories. I well recall the time Anne haunted herself into a state with her ridiculous stories. At least Dora's anxiety came from without.

* * *

15 October 1883

Trust Anne and Diana to get lost. They were trying to walk to town because the pony was lame. However, they did make a new friend, I haven't thought of Lavendar Lewis for years. She was reckoned to be a great beauty in my day. As far as I know she is quite eccentric, even Anne reported that she seemed a bit odd. That is a startling admission for Anne to make. Anne slipped out a name from her class and Lavendar seemed quite intrigued. I wonder if there is a mystery there? Certainly there must have been some reason she didn't get married to Stephen Irving all those years ago.

Anne made an interesting comment, that perhaps whatever went wrong with Lavendar Lewis and Stephen Irving wasn't nothing very dreadful. It's the little things in life that often make more trouble than the big things. I know of one couple for whom that is certainly true.

* * *

24 May 1884

If there's one thing I can't abide it's a storm.

Yesterday was an unseasonably warm day. There was a steady hot breeze all morning, but after lunch it died away into a heavy stillness. There was a low rumble of thunder at half past three. I glanced out the window and spied a dead black mass of cloud to the north west. Anne let the school out early, thankfully Mr Harmon Andrews showed up to take the children home as quick as possible. Anne grabbed the twins' hands and they fairly flew home as fast as their legs would carry them.

I met them by the door, having been hustling the fowl into the coop. Just in time too, as the cloud rolled over the sun plunging us into a unnatural twilight. With a mighty crash of thunder and a blinding glare of lightning, hail swooped down and blotted the landscape out in one white fury. All the window panes were smashed by the intense hail storm.

As I've said, if there is one thing sure to shake my composure, it's a storm and this was no exception. I really have no memory of it, as terrified as I was I have blocked all knowledge out, except I do think I was probably kneeling by the rocking chair in a corner of the kitchen, gasping and sobbing.

Thankfully the storm passed over in about three quarters of an hour and the sun came out again. I got on my knees and thanked the Good Lord Above for his mercy in sparing us. Anne fetched me a glass of my currant wine which I must admit I needed. She is a dear soul, my Anne. She always knows what I need before I do myself.

We walked outside to a terrible sight. A white carpet of hailstones, knee deep, drifted on the eaves. They hid the real damage which we only spied when the hail melted. Every green thing was stripped off, great boughs were wrenched away. It was impossible to believe this amount of destruction had occurred in such a short time. I figure folks will be struggling to recover from the storm for some time to come. At least there was no loss of life, for that we have to be thankful.

* * *

26 May 1884

Gilbert Blythe came by yesterday evening as Anne and I were nailing strips of oilcloth over the broken windows. There's no chance of replacing the glass at this point. Gilbert reported that the storm was also bad at White Sands. Tommy Blewett did nothing but shriek at the top of his voice the whole time. I never think of the Blewett's but I think of the time I nearly left Anne with that terrible family.

Uncle Abe's reputation as a weather prophet is assured. Mind you, he's been predicting this storm for half a century, he was bound to get it right one day.


	18. Chapter 18

_Rather a major change to canon here. I need to do this for reason which will become apparent in a few years' time. I wonder if you are playing 'spot the lines she has lifted straight from the book'?_

* * *

26 May 1884

Whilst we were cleaning up after the storm, John Henry Carter walked past. He told us that Mr Harrison's parrot, Ginger was killed in the storm. Mr Harrison will be upset, though I doubt anyone else will be. That parrot had a foul mouth. It seems peculiar to say it, but I think it led Davy astray.

If Ginger is the only casualty of the storm, I reckon we will be lucky. I'm sure Mr Harrison will be lonesome without it though.

* * *

1 June 1884

Dora and I enjoyed another happy afternoon. I was baking and she sewing. I do relish these little interludes. Our talk turned to her mother. Poor Mary, such a short, sad life. Dora has never told me much about the time before she came here. I was able to visit of course, but it was nice to hear about it from her. Dora tried to nurse her mother, but she was very young, it was a terrible responsibility. I do hope she doesn't feel any guilt about Mary's demise.

They had neighbors who helped with the provisions, but mostly the children were left alone. When Davy gets bored, he torments Dora. I can scarce believe she can stand to be in the same room as him, considering all she has endured at his hand.

I asked Dora about her mother and she shyly admitted that she could no longer recall her face, but that she missed her very much. She went quiet for a bit and I was busy with the batter, but I glanced across at her and saw a tear trace down her bonny wee cheek. Crossing to her swiftly, I sat next to her and gathered her into my lap. I didn't say another thing but held her as she cried. Poor wee lamb.

Davy was out playing with Milty Boulter. I'm pleased he has such a good chum. A boy like Davy needs someone as exuberant as him to share adventures. Rachel professes to forget her own boys' activities, but as I recall, they got up to some hijinks in their youth. We must give him the time and space to enjoy his childhood.

Anne dressed in white today. I know she is still missing Matthew terribly, but it's been almost a year now and I think it's time she left her mourning clothes behind. Matthew wouldn't want her to be dressed so plainly, he loved to see her looking pretty, didn't he buy her first pretty dress after all? I was so bent on practicality, I neglected to consider her romantic side.

* * *

10 June 1884

Well we have had a shock and no mistake. A lady came by this afternoon looking all smart in a big hat and as fresh as someone who had just stepped out of the proverbial bandbox, instead of driving over eight miles of dusty roads. She announced that she was seeking Mr Harrison. She says she is his wife!

* * *

11 June 1884

I've always chastised Rachel Lynde for being an old gossip and yet when I found myself the bearer of some juicy news myself, I couldn't wait to share it with her. She of course couldn't be told, she had _always_ suspected there was something about Mr Harrison. I found her reaction somewhat frustrating, for once, _for once_ , I knew something she did not, and she would not give me the satisfaction of sharing my knowledge. I must pray for forbearance.

Rachel rushed over to the Harrison place to get to the bottom of the mystery and promised to return once she knew. We are still waiting.

* * *

12 June 1884

We waited for Rachel all night and were surprised that the only news of her whereabouts came from Davy, of all people. He told us that he met Rachel and a strange woman in the Hollow. He delivered Rachel's apologies.

* * *

13 June 1884

It is too wet for anyone to be abroad, so our little mystery remains unsolved; much to our frustration.

* * *

14 June 1884

I had an appointment with the doctor, so I drove to town, still dissatisfied as to the Harrison mystery. The doctor attended to my ongoing complaint with his usual efficiency. I'm always somewhat exhausted when I return home after that treatment, so I made the most of the hours before school got out by having a little nap.

Much to my surprise, Davy has turned into quite the Rachel Lynde with regards to the Harrison gossip. He tells me that the woman we met wasMr Harrison's wife. They have been separated for a while, why, we do not as yet know. Davy had several theories, but they were merely that. The theories of seven-year-old boys' do not hold much water.

* * *

15 June 1884

Anne paid a call to Mr Harrison. Rachel had escorted his wife Emily to Carmody to buy some new paper for the parlor. According to Mr Harrison the story is that Emily was a keen housekeeper much disgusted with Mr Harrison's slovenly ways. The situation was tense between them, but then the parrot, Ginger was the last straw. Emily Harrison left after an ultimatum about the parrot and only returned when the parrot died.

Folks say I was foolish to leave John Blythe on account of a bad temper, seems I'm not the only one who has regrets about their temper getting the better of them.

Rachel shared some other news with us, seems young Gilbert Blythe has resigned from the White Sands school and is off to college in the fall. I wonder… But no, I can't see how?

* * *

25 June 1884

Thomas Lynde passed away last night. Poor Rachel, she did love that man. Folks say he was hen-pecked, but he was a loving and beloved father and husband. Rachel has nursed him very tenderly these last few years. I will miss his gentle nature and good humour, we have been good friends.

I went to sit with Rachel once I had the news. My poor friend, she is suffering so. Now we are just two old women together.

* * *

28 June 1884

Well I should eat my words. I've been hoping young Dora would show some gumption and it seems that it has finally come to pass. I'm echoing Eliza Barry from years ago, when I say it was Minnie May who led my darling Dora astray. Can I call her a bad influence? She is a little older, and Dora looks up to her.

The girls have recently become interested in mixing up bizarre concoctions. They delight in taking a pinch of this and a teaspoon of that and making 'something' out of it all. Davy has been their guinea pig. I don't exactly know what went into the last dish, but it did not agree with Davy at all. He has been in the privy all afternoon.

I escorted Minnie May home as she was the ringleader and suggested the girls have a spell away from each other. Not forever, I'm not as draconian as that, for just a couple of weeks, I think. Dora has been sent to her room to repent and to recall the recipe, so we might avoid it next time.

I must say, I chastised Dora very severely, but I am really rather pleased that she has finally shown some backbone. Davy is extremely sorry for himself. I'll put him to bed shortly, and ensure he has a good supply of chamber pots.

* * *

1 July 1884

I've been having all sorts of conversations today. First, I had to run an idea by Rachel. Thankfully she acquiesced. We are going to share the parenting of the twins. I will be doing most of the cooking and she will do the sewing. The twins will live at both houses, which will work well I think. There are times when I need a break.

The reason for this is that I am encouraging Anne to go to college in the fall. Hearing that Gilbert was going has put the idea into my head. I don't see why Anne has to miss out on the opportunity. Of course, Anne feels she is deserting me, but I want her to continue her education. I reckon with her savings, the money the stock brought in and the scholarship she won, she should pretty much be able to do it.

I'll miss my girl something fierce. It was just about unbearable when she left to attend Queens, I had Matthew with me then and Anne was able to return home at weekends. She will be further away at Redmond, so we will see less of her. I expect I will hang on every letter she sends us. I can't stand in her way, though. It wouldn't be fair. I am determined to give her as good an education as she is fit for. And yet, and yet I admit I will miss her, it seems a terrible sacrifice to make, though I will only admit that here, and put on a brave face to her.

* * *

5 July 1884

I sat down with Anne last night to discuss her wardrobe and her insistence on staying in mourning. I think it's time she moved on. She has all sorts of pretty dresses stored in the attic. Matthew would want her to wear them again. He would want her to return to life. I feel guilty because I've moved on, and I think it's time she does too.

I wonder if this is some call back to her parents' deaths. She never had the chance to mourn them, because she was a baby, so she is over reacting somewhat now. I asked her if she thought that was a factor and she was quiet for a while as she thought it through. I held her as she told me through her tears that Matthew was the first loving parent she had ever known, even before me. I knew they were close, of course. I admit it hurt a little to hear her say it, but I suppose I only have myself to blame. I am less demonstrative than Matthew was, so it is understandable that Anne was unaware of the depth of my love for her. I hope she knows of it now. She is my sun and stars. I would do anything to make her happy, even give her up to college, though it breaks my heart to do so.

She says she is worried that if she does give up her mourning dresses that Matthew will be forgotten entirely. I reminded her that we will always remember him, and that is all that matters.

* * *

9 July 1884

You know I've heard it murmured in town that Rachel should move in with me. What a ridiculous notion. I'll admit I could do with a hand with the twins, i.e. Davy; but Rachel can help as easily from her house as here. I can't imagine living with her. She'd drive me mad in five minutes flat, I wager.

* * *

12 July 1884

Anne handed in her resignation. I hope her students will not be too upset. I'm sure another excellent teacher will be found for them.

I have so enjoyed having her around these last two years. It seems hard to believe she won't be here next year. Will I get my girl back again after all those years away? I sincerely hope I will.

* * *

14 July 1884

I am happy to report that Anne came down to dinner last night in a new dress of pale green muslin. The first colour she has worn since Matthew's death. She looked stunning. I had almost forgotten how beautiful she is, the dress became her perfectly, the green brought out the tints of her hair and face. Davy couldn't help himself, he told her she looked 'bully'. It is a wicked thing, but secretly I agreed with him.

Over dinner Davy told us a long and involved story from school and also how friendly the reception is at the Harrison house. He finished off wanting to know why I never got married? He does make me laugh that boy. I had to leave the table on a pretense so that I could enjoy at hearty chuckle at his latest story.


	19. Chapter 19

22 August 1884

Anne is very excited for Miss Lavendar is to be married this week. If she had not stumbled upon Echo Lodge all those months ago, this would not have happened. It is perhaps the last big thing that will happen to Anne until her departure to Redmond.

I am disconsolate. I encouraged and paved the way for her to leave me. I know it is the right thing to do. Oh, but how I'm going to miss her. I fear she may never really return. She'll probably meet some wonderful man at college and move away for good. Only coming back to visit, not to live. I feel I had her with me for too few years.

When I look back at my reaction when she first arrived, I'm ashamed of how I behaved. It was such a shock. Over the years I had closed myself into my little world. Anne burst open the doors of my self-imposed prison, and I've never really been the same since, thankfully.

But I mustn't rob the joys of this week with fear of next, as Anne would say.

* * *

26 August 1884

I had a headache yesterday and I'm still recovering. Anne was out, and the twins were around about, unsupervised, which never bodes well. I heard a terrible crash and hauled my aching head out of bed and went to see what all the commotion was about. Dora fell down the outside cellar steps, head over heels and scraped all the skin off her nose. My word, the blood! I had to get her patched up. I could hear Davy wailing downstairs as I was putting Dora to bed. Anne told me later that Davy wasn't crying out of sympathy, but because he was upset that he missed the spectacle of her fall!

* * *

30 August 1884

I have barely seen Anne, she has been running around saying farewell to all her old haunts and friends. Of course, she has been home too, but she's been busy sewing and packing her trunk and has generally been distracted. I hope we can have one good talk before she goes.

Anne is disgruntled because several women have been to visit her, and their backhanded compliments have been quite annoying. I'm sure they think I am mad to let her go. They seem to think further education is wasted, particularly on an orphan.

Rachel was over having tea and we watched Gilbert escort Anne home after one of their jaunts. Rachel thinks they'll be a match some day. Of course, I hope they will, but I don't like to voice my thoughts so. Rachel reminded me that Anne is a young woman now. She was married by that age. She worries that students at college seldom do anything but flirt. I felt honour bound to defend Anne and say that they must study a little.

* * *

1 September 1884

She's gone. My darling, the light of my life has left. Off to university, off to her new life. I pecked her cheek and kept my tears back when Diana came to deliver her to the station. Dora politely said farewell, but Davy ran away and hid in a closet. He howled for a good few hours. I should have gone to comfort him, but I confess I was in tears myself.

* * *

3 September 1884

I received my first letter from Anne today. She is getting on pretty well. She said she felt quite strange as she watched the Island's red shores disappear over the horizon. She wrote that she can't believe PEI isn't really her native shore and that she only lived here for seven years. Anne confessed she had a good cry on board and felt much better for it.

They didn't get to Kingsport until nine that night and Anne felt bewildered by the crowds, but was relieved when her old friend from Queens, Priscilla Grant greeted her. Anne writes that the moon, the same moon that looks down over us at Green Gables is looking down at her at Kingsport. I find that a comforting thought myself.

Well I mustn't be maudlin. She's gone away, but life here goes on. Davy and Dora need my attention as much as ever.

* * *

4 September 1884

The twins started school once again. Their new teacher is Jane Andrews. Davy compares her unfavourably with Anne. I felt honour bound to admonish him for speaking ill of his teacher, though privately I agree, who could fill Anne's shoes? That's a daunting prospect for young Miss Andrews.

The arrangement with Rachel is working well. The twins go to hers after school several days a week and either I go down to her for dinner or they all come up here. The house is awfully quiet when they are not around, however. I'm pleased when they come home, as they fill the house with their busy chatter. Davy always has some funny story or ridiculous question he needs answered right away, his 'I need to knows' keep us on our toes.

* * *

25 September 1884

Oh dear, the minister came to tea. That should not be a source of mirth, but he had a mishap and Rachel and I are still laughing about it. Anne would have loved it.

Mr Harrison's big tall pig broke into the yard and got onto the back porch. It was there when the minister appeared in the doorway. It made a wild bolt to get out, but there was no way out except between the minister's legs. It took the minister clear off his feet and carried him away. I'll never forget the look of the minister's frightened face as his hat went one day and his cane the other. The pig was scared to death. We tried to keep a shocked, but solemn expression while the man was still about. But we collapsed in laughter once he left; which thankfully he did shortly after, his pride most wounded, but his body perfectly well. Thankfully the twins were at school, else Davy would have hooted in laughter right in the minister's face.

The minister held Rachel and I responsible, but I don't know why. It's not our pig, and there was no reason for him to come to the back door. I allow it might be a trial to keep a straight face at church this Sunday, I must make sure not to catch Rachel's eye.

Davy has been mostly behaving himself lately, although one day he was naughty, and I punished him by making him wear one of Dora's aprons. He retaliated by cutting up all her aprons. Rachel spanked him for that and he chased her rooster to death.

* * *

30 September 1884

And just like that three weeks have gone by. Anne writes that all of a sudden college life has clicked into place and she feels at home, which is not to say that she does not miss us, just that she is happy. I am pleased for her of course, if a little sad as well.

I have taken to tying Davy to the rail of the bridge when he goes fishing. I don't trust him not to fall in. I would hate for him to be drowned. He doesn't like it of course, but I will continue to do it for his own safety.

* * *

20 December 1884

Anne is coming home. I am so very happy to finally be able to write those dear, dear words. It has been a long term with her away. I must allow Anne time to visit all her chums, I know I can't keep her to myself, much as I want to.

I love the twins, but they are hard work and not as good company as my girl. The nights are long, and cheerless after they go to bed. I have taken to going to bed earlier these days. As I can't sew or read, and there's no one to talk to, I find the evenings very quiet. Rachel comes for dinner several nights a week, but she leaves and then I'm all alone without any adult company.

Dora has been helping me with the Christmas baking. She is coming along so well. She is really a better baker than Anne ever was, less likely to get lost in daydreams, which were Anne's downfall.

Davy has been begging permission to light a bonfire to welcome Anne home. He's been stacking branches together for the last fortnight. He has been practicing his Indian war-whoop which has been very wearing. His favourite ploy is to creep up behind us and then let go. He'll be the death of me one day, that boy.

* * *

22 December 1884

Davy insisted on lighting his bonfire to welcome Anne. It was so very wonderful to see her alight from the carriage and walk towards the door. Davy hugged her knees, Dora held her hand. Rachel came up to greet her. I hung in the shadows, worried that my emotions might get the better of me.

Just to have her sitting in the kitchen with us all, to hear her silver-clear laughter is a delight. I could hear her and Diana chatting all night long. I didn't mind that they were a little noisy, it was just so lovely to hear her voice murmuring in the next room. My girl is home. I am so blessed.

* * *

25 December 1884

Christmas Day at last and a white one at that. Snow fell last night, and the landscape is bedecked with clean beautiful snow. It does feel Christmassy. It's such a joy to have Anne with us. We had a splendid Christmas dinner. I looked around the table with my three happy children and thought how very lucky I am.

Rachel has gone to her Eliza's to spend Christmas with her family. I hope she has a lovely time.

* * *

28 March 1885

Anne writes that she has won another scholarship, the Thorburn. My Anne, I never get tired of hearing about her accomplishments. She is due home again shortly, my but won't it be lovely to see her. Winter was long and dull with her gone.

We are somewhat worried about young Ruby Gillis. She caught an attack of congestion a month or so ago and hasn't bounced back as quickly as we would like.

* * *

10 April 1885

Anne arrived home yesterday. It was so lovely to see my scholar home again.

She tells me that she and Priscilla Grant, Stella Maynard and Philippa Gordon are going to rent a house together next year. She found it just before they left for the vacation. Anne described the house to me, and it sounds just perfect. Their two landladies have taken a trip to Europe. She is quite delighted by this turn of events.

After dinner we had a good long chat about her time away. Anne sounds so very happy, her studies are going well, and she has some lovely girlfriends. She sees a fair bit of Gilbert Blythe still. She made mention of Charles Sloane. Listening between the lines, she doesn't sound very happy with something he's done, but she wouldn't go into details.

I miss her, of course, but she does sound very happy over there. I just wish we could see her more often, but I know I did the right thing in letting her go.

Anne asked me about Ruby Gillis. She is still unwell, Rachel believes it's galloping consumption. The family are in denial, but we have watched Ruby's quick decline. Anne naturally is dismayed. Her gorgeous, bright, young friend dying! It is a terrible waste. Ruby was so beautiful, now she is wasting away. She has an unnatural look about her, as if she is already on the way out.

* * *

14 June 1885

We're so worried about Ruby. Anne reports that she is looking paler and weaker every time she sees her. I worry that Anne will get sick too, I couldn't bear for anything to happen to her.

* * *

20 June 1885

It is as if Ruby has finally accepted her fate. Anne says that she has been in denial about her condition for months, but yesterday she mentioned that she would soon be in her grave, while her friends would still be full of life. Poor Ruby, she is too young, she was too full of life to die so soon.

Anne says they had a real heart to heart, but it was so difficult to say what she truly felt and impossible to tell comforting falsehoods. Ruby is terrified of death. She wants to keep on living, to enjoy a good life, she always wanted babies, but all that is being torn away from her.

* * *

23 June 1885

Ruby Gillis died last night. The poor wee girl. Such a terrible loss for her family and for Anne and her friends too. It is a terrible blow when the first of your good friends dies.

Rachel declared that Ruby made a handsome corpse. I would not have voiced it out loud, but it is true that she did look very fine in her coffin. What a terrible waste.


	20. Chapter 20

This chapter covers quite a few years. Thank you to all my new followers and reviewers, particularly **RachelBarbraBerry1994** , thank you for your all your kind reviews and comments.

* * *

20 September 1885

Rachel hosted the Ladies Aid. We found it difficult to concentrate as there was a terrible accident last week. Mrs Phineas Davis from Bright River, only recently married, lost her husband. He was skylarking about on the train tracks and got his foot stuck in the rails. He was unable to get away before an oncoming train ran him over. According to Mrs Andrews it was a terrible mess and ladies were fainting at the sight. I can scarce imagine how traumatic it must have been for his poor widow. Apparently, Mr Davis' foot was severed and was still caught in the tracks after the train passed. The Davis' had only been married a scant six months. Poor girl, what a terrible tragedy. Mrs Boulter reminded us that is the is the drawback of new technology. We enjoy the convenience of train travel, but it does not come without inherent dangers.

* * *

28 December 1885

The ever-generous Josephine Barry passed away last week. We had word of it today. She always had a soft spot for Anne of course and it seems she did until the last. She has bequeathed the princely sum of $1000 to Anne. Miss Barry has been ill for over a year, she suffered dreadfully, so I am pleased for sake that her struggles are over, and I pray she will be in a better place. It was a very generous gift, Anne was very lucky to have made her acquaintance all those years ago.

* * *

10 April 1886

I had a nasty surprise today. Mrs Harmon hosted the Ladies Aid. Rachel and I walked up together. We sat down and enjoyed a pleasant afternoon tea and the usual Ladies Aid business. It was only afterwards when the talk turned to Anne that I had a most unpleasant moment. Mrs Bell said "I hear Gilbert Blythe proposed to your Anne, Marilla. And she refused him". I admit my jaw dropped. I had heard no such thing. Anne never told me. Fortunately, Rachel came to my rescue. She babbled on about how Anne wasn't ready for marriage, and Gilbert was quite impertinent to suggest anything of the kind. I just sat there my mouth gaping like a fish. I fancy I could hear Mrs Boulter and Mrs Wright murmur something about how the apple didn't fall far from the tree when it came to the Blythe men and the Green Gables women. That was enough for me, I made my excuses and left.

I suppose it must be true. I wish Anne had made mention of it to me. I wonder why she did not? I'm sure I will have to endure many digs about it in the future. Of course, I will defend Anne's decision, but privately I am bitterly disappointed. I suppose this is what comes of looking too far ahead and trying to plot someone else's future. But it did look virtually assured. Gilbert and Anne make a lovely couple. I know Rachel agrees with me.

* * *

21 May 1886

I was getting rather maudlin yesterday, just before Anne was due home. I was thinking of my past. How quiet my life had been, until my vivid, imaginative, impetuous child with the heart of love and her world of fancy had arrived. It's as though I've only truly lived the last nine years since she arrived.

And what do you know, just as I thought it, she arrived! A day early, I heard a knock at the door and supposed it must be Rachel and who should be on the other side than my girl, my Anne. I caught her in my arms and kissed her bright hair and sweet face warmly. She walked all the way from the train station, declared she couldn't bear to wait. It was so wonderful to see her blessed face, to hear her beautiful voice. I wanted to sit and drink her in just the two of us, but what would you know Davy sailed in shortly after and demanded all her attention.

* * *

1 July 1886

Mrs Phineas Davis, as was, wed again last week. She is now Mrs Wellington Cooper. She is still young of course, so there is no reason why she should remain a widow for ever more. I believe Mr Cooper is some years older than she. He is established as a boot maker in Bright River. I hope she has more luck with him than her last husband.

* * *

14 November 1886

Anne writes that she has met a new beau. She doesn't always tell me straightaway, so perhaps it is serious this time. She reports that he is tall and handsome and distinguished looking, with dark, melancholy, inscrutable eyes, a melting, musical and sympathetic voice. Her description is so very Anne. I'm intrigued. His name, if you can believe it, is Royal Gardner. Rachel tsked and said he sounds like a tradesman, though I wouldn't say that to Anne for all the tea in China. She writes that the girls knew who he was and that he has money behind him. After they met, in a rainstorm, he sent her a dozen long stemmed roses.

* * *

3 March 1887

We had a bit of a scare last night. We lost the twins. Yes, that's right. I thought they were at Rachel's and she thought they were here with me. They had in fact skipped off to Milty Boulter's house for a sleep over. Dora hadn't wanted to go, but Davy persuaded her, telling her falsely I believe, that Minnie May Barry would be in attendance also. Once they were there, it was too late, and Dora was too frightened, to come home on her own. The ruse was only spotted late this morning when I enquired of Rachel how the twins had fared last night. "I thought they were with you?" was her reply. We looked at each other in horror, unable to think where they had spent the night. Davy received a stern talking to from Rachel and then myself. Rachel wants to spank him and while it is not normally my style, I have to admit that this was an egregious misdemeanour on his part.

* * *

30 March 1887

It's hard to fathom the unlucky nature of some. Mrs Wellington Cooper lost her second husband this time to fever. The Ladies Aid was full of the news. She had been married to Mr Phineas Davis who met his tragic end on the railway track. She and Mr Cooper had been married for barely nine months. It seems odd to me that she could be widowed twice before I have been married at all. I believe she has had a child with Mr Cooper, their daughter is but a month old. I hope her family look after her. It must be a terrible trial to her to be widowed yet again and this time to have the burden of a young daughter, though I suppose the baby will be a source of comfort for her.

* * *

6 July 1887

Diana Barry is to be married tomorrow. Fred Wright is a nice boy. A good solid dependable boy. Anne thinks it's funny and a bit horrible. Fred isn't the sort of dashing wicked young man Diana once wanted to marry. I do wonder if Anne will ever have any sense. That isn't the sort of boy anyone should want to marry. He might sound romantic for about five minutes if you are thirteen, but our girls are more mature now, they should want more dependable men now.

Anne is to be bridesmaid naturally, and Gilbert is Best Man. Rachel whispered to me that they made a very fine-looking pair. I must say I agree, but there's no point thinking like that. For all they look perfect together, it's a fleeting affair. I can't set my cap to that, it'll end in disappointment.

* * *

6 May 1888

Anne wrote to me that Royal Gardner proposed, and she refused! She doesn't sound too cut up about it either.

Well goodness me, I did not expect that. She keeps me on my toes this girl. She is due home again shortly, and I must say I am looking forward to seeing her. I need to have a good talk with her, with no interruptions. I'll send the twins down to Rachel's and serve some plum puffs and get to the bottom of her love life.

I saw Gilbert today, he looked so pale and thin, I hardly knew him. I hope he is well. These scholars work too hard.

* * *

28 May 1888

Anne came to sit by me after dinner. She looked wistful. I asked her what the matter was. She confessed that while she is happy that all her friends are getting on with their lives: getting married, having babies, etc. She feels as though she only belongs in her friends' past lives, and not in the present. Of course, I know exactly how she feels, it's possible to feel happy for ones' friends and yet sad for oneself.

Mrs Allan had shared with Anne a memory of her mother from when she was very small. Mrs Allan remembered just one sweet hug when she thought she was going to be in terrible trouble. Anne shared it with me, with a sob. "I just wish I had one memory of my own mother, Marilla, but of course I do not, I was too young."

Her sobs broke my heart. I have done all I can to fill that role, but nothing I can do can make up for her first decade and her lost parents. I told her as much and she acknowledged that it is a wound that can never be healed. Not that Anne wants to hurt me with her words, I know that. Just sometimes it catches us both unawares. We hugged and kissed each other. I do hope she can find happiness. My life has not been too terrible, but I don't think it's the life for her.

* * *

12 June 1888

After church today, I overheard Mrs Andrews boasting about her Jane who is to marry a millionaire. That's all very well and good, though I would prefer to have my daughter marry a poor man and stay close on the Island; than marry a rich one and move halfway across the country to some big city, where you'll never see them again.

The Ladies Aid was full of news of Mrs Wellington Cooper who has found yet another husband. Mr Sterling McFadyen is an agricultural agent. Mrs Bell murmured that she must be a good cook to which Mrs Wright replied that perhaps she had other attributes. I was quite embarrassed as the ladies smirked around me.

* * *

20 June 1888

Gilbert Blythe is unwell. We are all real worried about him. He has a terrible dose of typhoid fever. We've been praying for them all and I've taken some food around for the family. No one feels like cooking in that situation. It's the very least I can do. I still feel bad for him after Anne rejected him. Mrs Blythe looked beyond worried. I know she is not best pleased with Anne's behaviour, but we put that behind us, for Gilbert's sake. She grasped my hands and begged me to pray for him, which of course I am doing as hard as ever I can. I gave her a hug, told her we all loved them and that we hoped it was God's will to save him.

* * *

30 July 1888

A storm was raging. I do not like storms and was pleased to have Anne home again, somewhat unexpectedly. I thought she would stay at Echo Lodge until the storm had blown over.

Davy in his thoughtlessness broke the news about Gilbert's illness to Anne somewhat more suddenly than we planned. Anne went as white as a sheet at the news. We explained to her that it was a bad case, but that they had a trained nurse, and everything was being done for him. Gilbert has the Blythe constitution in his favour. I pray he will be well. I don't think Anne could bear it if anything were to happen to him. I felt the same way about John Blythe when he was taken ill all those years ago. Despite not being by his side, I still cared for him. I doubt Anne got any sleep at all last night. She was quiet in her room, not wailing as you might expect. Just quiet, but I expect not asleep.

* * *

3 August 1888

Wonderful news. Pacifique Boute came strolling down the road this morning. He was able to relay the news that Gilbert Blythe is better. Anne is overjoyed, as in fact are we all. I fancy Anne is more relieved than a casual friend may be. Perhaps she has feelings for him after all?

* * *

4 September 1888

Out of the kitchen window I spied Gilbert Blythe coming along the road. Anne was outside wondering how to fix her green dress as she planned on wearing it to Alice Penhallow's wedding tonight. I had given her a few suggestions, but she wanted some 'outdoor inspiration' as she termed it. There's still some romance in my girl.

Anne ran in and told me that Gilbert had asked her out for a walk, but that she had put him off until tomorrow.

* * *

5 September 1888

Rachel and I watched Anne and Gilbert walk off together in the direction of Hester Gray's garden. Fancy that garden still thriving after all these years? It's become rather a special spot for those two. I watched them leave with a sad heart. I do wish something would come of all these rambles they have enjoyed since Gilbert recovered.

Rachel touched my arm and winked in their direction. I told her to hush, I daren't voice my wishes on that subject.

* * *

6 September 1888

I have been dying to write this for the last hours, but I have had time to consolidate it in my heart. On their walk yesterday, Gilbert proposed again to Anne and this time she accepted. I cannot express how very happy I am. There are no words.

They will be apart for a while, as Gilbert goes to medical school and Anne has a job at Summerside Girls' Academy, but they plan to marry as soon as ever they can. I feel all's right with the world. Rachel clasped my hands and kissed my cheek. She feels the same way. That past wrongs will be righted. I feel I can sit down and just be. I'm completely contented with the way things have turned out. All my prayers have been answered; well nearly all of them in any case.

* * *

5 September 1891

Anne is home, but this time for just a short while. Her wedding. Her wedding. I did not think I would ever write those blessed words. Her wedding is just around the corner. While I am beyond delighted for her, there is twinge of sadness too. I know that I will be lucky to see her twice a year henceforth. Anne and Gilbert plan to live at Glen St Mary, Gilbert's great uncle has a medical practice there. The uncle is going to retire, and Gilbert is going to take over the practice.

Mrs Harmon Andrews admired Anne's trousseau the other day. She admits it's nearly as nice as Jane's, although she actually said, "There's no telling what queer freaks fashion will take." Which is quite a backhanded compliment, if ever I heard one. She's all airs and graces since her Jane married that middle aged millionaire. Oh dear, I'm sounding like Rachel.

As Anne's wedding day approaches, I admit I am excited. I heard once that a house was not a real home until it had been consecrated by a birth, a wedding and a death. We've had deaths here, my parents and Matthew died here, and we've had births, Matthew and I were born here. But we've never had a wedding. I can't believe fourteen years have gone by since Anne arrived. I wish Matthew were here to witness this blessed day. I hope he is looking down upon us all and smiling.

I do think, somehow that Gilbert is the son I never had. I always feel, though in reality this makes no sense whatsoever, that their union puts right my old mistake. Good comes out of the evil of ancient bitterness.

I watched Anne slip away towards the graveyard with a small bouquet of flowers. I know she likes to keep a silent tryst with my brother on important, and less important, occasions.

* * *

15 September 1891

Anne was wedded today.

Our first bride of Green Gables.

Slender and shining-eyed in the mist of the maiden veil I embroidered all those years ago, expecting I would be wearing it myself. It has been patiently waiting in my bridal chest all these years.

They were married in the sunshine of the old orchard, circled by the loving and kindly faces of long-familiar friends. Mr Allan married them, and the Reverend Jo made the most beautiful wedding prayer. It was a most glorious wedding.

I stood and watched the carriage out of sight. She was gone, Green Gables is her home no longer. It was with a heavy heart that I turned back to the old house which despite still being full of people, feels lonelier than ever.


	21. Chapter 21

I wrote this way back in May. I've been tweaking it now and again. Feels good to finally have it published, the saddest chapter since Matthew died.

* * *

4 June 1891

I left the twins with Rachel with strong exhortations to behave themselves. Dora, I know will. Davy, I'm not so sure. Still I know Rachel will cope just fine.

Anne's baby is due any day now, I pray I get there in time. I packed my horse-hair trunk which had not been opened for half a century. Rachel had knitted the bairn one of her famous tobacco quilts. This one is somewhat smaller than usual, to fit the cot. It is a generous gift, which I am sure Anne will appreciate.

Susan Baker seemed to look at me askance at first, but I left the kitchen to her. I know how annoying it is to have someone else fussing around in my domain. It is a rare treat to have someone else cooking for me for a change.

Anne is huge. My breath caught when first I saw her. It is a wonderous sight to see my girl large with child. While Anne is blooming with the baby, she is quite uncomfortable. She says she is suffering from heartburn and can't get comfortable in bed or out of it. Gilbert and I are encouraging Anne to take it easy. She will have quite enough to do once the babe is born.

Other than being huge and uncomfortable, Anne is in fine fettle, she has a real glow about her, such as I have never seen. It is always interesting to spend any time with a woman at this point, their entire centre of gravity shifts, their very walk is altered. Anne, like Rachel, and countless women before her, strolls around rubbing her stomach. She says it is itchy, but I think there is more to than that. It is as if she is patting it, a gesture of love for the unborn baby.

We have been having a lovely catch up on all the news from The Glen and Avonlea. Anne's neighbours, Miss Cornelia and Captain Jim visit often, particularly as Anne is unable to walk far in her condition. Miss Cornelia is quite a character. It is amusing to hear her and Captain Jim sparring in Anne's parlour. It's lovely to know that Anne has quite settled into this new community, though of course I wish she were living closer to home.

* * *

13 June 1891

We are heartbroken.

Anne's labour was long and fraught. Susan and I paced in the kitchen praying and attempting, unsuccessfully, to keep each other sane. Gilbert, Doctor Dave and the nurse popped in occasionally to collect more supplies, or a cup of tea, which we willingly provided; Gilbert's face getting graver as the night wore on. I was worried, terribly worried that, but no I cannot even write it.

Eventually we heard a cessation in the screams and thanked the Good Lord above. I ran upstairs to see my darling girl and her beautiful baby. And Joyce was beautiful, but… Anne, her pale face blanched with its baptism of pain, her eyes aglow with the holy passion of motherhood thought of nothing but her baby. She told me "Oh Marilla, I thought I was happy before. Now I know that I just dreamed a pleasant dream of happiness. This is the reality." I shushed her, I felt she must conserve her strength.

They called her Joyce. Such a beautiful name, she was always going to be our collective joy. She was such a wee slip of a thing. I held her briefly, all too briefly. But I was dismayed when Gilbert sadly shook his head at me. "What?" I gasped as the nurse was tending to Anne. "She can't live." he told me, my blood ran cold.

We had her for but a brief, all too brief, day. We sat vigil with Anne, Gilbert and wee Joy for a scant few hours checking her and praying to the Good Lord to save her, but it was hopeless. Her wee toty* body was unable to grip onto life any longer. We wept, we had known her for such a brief moment. There was a look in Anne's eyes, a certain sadness, which I suspect I will see for evermore. We wrapped up Joy's wee body, all white and still. Her funeral was held the following day. Anne was too weak to attend, but the congregation was on hand to mourn on her behalf.

It is a queer thing with me, it has ever been this way, extreme stress comes out as platitudes. It's not what is in my heart, but I cannot express those words. I told Anne that time would help her, and that it was God's will. I told her that Joy is better off, when all I needed to do was hug her and keep my mouth shut. I don't know why I said that to her, the right words just do not come easy to me. I was terribly worried that Anne was straying into dangerous territory, that she was losing her faith in God.

I will stay a few weeks yet to mind my girl; to offer what feeble comfort I can.

* * *

18 June 1891

My darling Anne, she is weak yet. I have spent many hours sitting quietly by her bedside: reading, talking, watching her sleep. She looks so terribly frail and so very sad. This is a terrible time.

And poor, poor Gilbert. My heart weeps for him too. How ghastly it was for him, as soon as he saw Joyce's pale little body he knew she would not stay. I do feel for him.

Distressingly Anne's milk came in a couple of days after Joy was born. She wept as the milk dripped from her acutely tender breasts, no baby needed its nourishment. I know God knows best in His infinite wisdom, but just now that is hard to fathom.

* * *

3 July 1891

We got Anne up and about today and I took her for a brief walk. She leant on my arm as we slowly made our way around the garden. I hope the very act of being outside did her some good. She is much transformed from the happy girl of just a few weeks ago. I wonder if we will get that girl back?

She received a letter from Philippa Blake which upset her. Phil had not heard about Joy's passing when she wrote, I know she would not have sent it and will be distressed that Anne had to read it. Anne confessed that where once it would have been a delight to read, now it was a torment.

* * *

10 July 1891

Rachel was at Green Gables with the twins when I returned home. She has experienced heart break on this scale, years ago admittedly, though I'm sure she's never forgotten her wee Katherine.

Davy and Dora were in floods of tears, I sat down on the sofa with them and held them as they cried. Davy asked "Why did God take Joyce so quickly, Marilla? I want to know." The only reply I could make is that God knows best. I suppose it's a feeble response to a young boy, but it's the only one I have at my disposal.

* * *

12 July 1891

I paid a visit to the Blythe household yesterday. I knocked at the door and when Caroline opened it, she just opened her arms and we clung onto each other, sobbing. She shares my sorrow at being a grandmother for such a brief moment. John found us there on the doorstep and ushered us both in, weeping and holding hands.

I have an inkling that they experienced their own heart break before Gilbert arrived in their lives. Caroline informed me they would pay Anne and Gilbert a visit shortly. I was able to tell them that while, of course, the young couple are grieving terribly, I think they are on the mend, albeit slowly.

* * *

18 December 1891

Anne has come to Green Gables celebrate Christmas, and Gilbert will come up later. Rachel and I have been preparing a Christmas feast. The Barrys, Blythes and Wrights will join us. It should be a merry party. Davy and Dora are so happy to see her again. They had prepared little gifts for her. She made an effort for them, but I know she is heartbroken.

* * *

26 December 1891

We enjoyed a wonderful Christmas with all our friends and family. It was so lovely to have Anne and Gilbert there to enjoy it with us. I fancy they would have had a sad Christmas up at Glen St Mary all on their own.

I spied a certain sadness in Anne's eyes as she watched Diana nurse. I squeezed her hand to comfort her and she gave me a quick, sad smile. The hurt is still sharp, my poor darling.

* * *

30 December 1891

Anne tells me that she thinks she is in the family way again. We hugged, and I admit tears were shed. It would be a wonderful blessing, though neither of us would voice the worry that I am sure we both feel.

* * *

23 February 1892

I hosted the Ladies Aid yesterday. I wonder how much longer I can keep this up? I find it harder and harder to find the energy to prepare ample food in advance and then to clean up afterwards. It's exhausting.

Mrs Sterling McFadyen lost her husband in a house fire last week, the house too was burnt to the ground. Goodness me, but that woman is unlucky with her husbands. She had two further children with Mr McFadyen, so now she is bereft once again with three small children.

Anne writes that she is well, the baby should come in July. I'll be going over there to help. I pray, oh how I pray, she and the bairn are healthy this go 'round. I don't think she could bear it if we have a repeat of last year's tragedy.

* * *

3 June 1892

I went to Rachel's for tea. She was full of the latest scandal; a serial killer, one Thomas Neill Cream* has been arrested for murdering numerous ladies of ill repute. He is of Scots background, but now resides in Ontario. He sounds like a thoroughly evil man. Rachel just loves pouring over these salacious stories. I listen with a polite ear, but I find I have a limited interest in the lives of these debauched creatures. I do feel sorry for his victims, however. They may have been fallen women, but they did not deserve to die such horrible deaths.

* * *

5 July 1892

Gilbert knocked on my door first thing this morning with the glad tidings that Anne had been delivered of a baby boy in the wee sma's. I slept through the whole thing.

James Matthew (Jem) weighs ten pounds and has a good set of lungs on him. I admit I am smitten; although in my usual manner I was unable to give voice to my love in the presence of his parents. He is named after the two finest gentlemen Anne has ever known, Captain Jim and my dearest brother. I admit I shed a tear when she told me. Matthew would have been so very happy to meet him.

* * *

6 July 1892

I watched Anne nursing little Jem. It was such a beautiful picture; him suckling her breast, I fancy I could hear his little gulps as he swallowed the milk. She was looking down at him in such maternal manner. I broke down as all my longed for hopes and desires came crushing down again. Rather than upset her I rushed from the room, so I could weep in peace.

Anne followed me shortly after, concerned at my abrupt departure. Try as I might I could not pretend that nothing was the matter. I guess any hopes I might have that I could do so were dashed, as tears spilled from my eyes. She very tenderly asked what was wrong. I admit I was too upset to answer for a spell. Anne silently gathered me into her arms.

I did eventually settle down and apologized to her for my outburst of emotion, so unlike me. Anne of course would have none of it and enquired as to what had happened.

I suppose she caught me in a moment of weakness but in that moment all my hitherto hidden hopes and desires came pouring out, as I described to her how much I had wanted bairns of my own and had been thwarted. Had watched friends such as Rachel bear so many children and supported her, whilst dying inside. Watching Anne nursing my grandchild brought all those buried emotions back.

Anne of course had no idea, so well did I hide my feelings all these years. She insisted I lie down for a spell. She explained afterwards that it had always been her experience that a cathartic cry was exhausting, and a good sleep most restorative.

I awoke afterwards feeling much better physically and emotionally. When I found Anne again she hugged me once more and told me she had no idea that I had felt so. She placed wee Jem in my arms that I may love him all the more, as if that were even possible. His beautiful red hair and alabaster skin are so reminiscent of his mother. I looked up at her as she sweetly smiled at us. I marvel at his hazel eyes. I wonder if the colour will change, I believe they may as he grows.

I returned my gaze to my sweet grandson. We looked at each other for some time. I knew in that moment that although I could never have a bairn of my very own I was so very blessed to have him. I think Anne left me to it at that point, something about having a sleep herself. No wonder, she must be exhausted.

We had a lovely time together just the two of us. I cradled Jem in my arms and later propped him up on my shoulder as we walked around the house. He fell asleep in my arms. No baby has ever done that before. I murmured my love to him. As he slept I daydreamed about his future, how he would learn to crawl, to walk, to talk, to run and swim and ride. How he would go to school, his first love, what profession he might have; I admit I got a little carried away. He grizzled a little and his wee face strained a bit and went red before I felt the release in his diaper. Taking him to the table I changed him, again a first for me. I have never tended to one as young.

He became a little upset after a while; emphasizing the one thing I cannot supply. So, with some regret, because I had enjoyed our interlude and I'm sure Anne had enjoyed hers; I took him back to his mother for some afternoon tea. She was awake and gratefully took him back into her arms to nurse.

She reminded me as she lay there, that this is a messy time. I had forgot that through the grief last time. Susan arrived and together we helped Anne out of bed and changed her sheets. Messy doesn't quite convey it; it looked like someone had been murdered in the bed. She was most apologetic, but of course there is nothing she can do about it. Gilbert says it is completely normal and healthy.

The contrast between this Anne and the Anne of a year ago is startling. Not surprisingly of course. This Anne is full of the love and laughter of a new mother to a healthy baby.

We will never forget our little Joy.

And we will love watching our Jem grow into a lad and man.

* * *

4 November 1892

I have Jake O'Donnell shingling the roof. He is doing a wonderful job, but it is disconcerting to hear him clambering around up on the roof. I remember Anne got into trouble with his mother for failing to call him St. Clair. The banging of the hammer is giving me rather a headache. I hope he will be finished soon.

Dora has a beau. She is seventeen now, so I suppose that is not all that unreasonable. It barely seems any time since those six-year-old twins burst into our lives. Ralph Andrews, Jane's brother is the object of her affection. He is a nice enough boy now, I recall he used to be a little, round, fat, white-headed fellow, but even those little boys grow into fine young men eventually.

I wrote Anne with the news and she replied that she hoped Ralph would have more gumption than his big brother Billy. Billy apparently asked Jane to propose to Anne on his behalf. Goodness, I never knew that before.

* * *

* Wee toty, Scots for very small.  
** Thomas Neill Cream was a serial killer who was hanged in November 1892, the jury took 12 minutes to decide his guilt. There was some speculation that he was Jack the Ripper, but this is unsubstantiated.


	22. Chapter 22

There's a bit of an issue with dates at the end of this chapter. Way back when I started writing about JoRilla (John and Marilla) I supposed that their relationship took place in the 1890s. So, I set about finding all sorts of occurrences from that time. Now, I'm writing her diary, I find I've run out of 1890s and it will in fact occur in the 1900s. You date conscious folk will just have to excuse me. Also, from the second half going forwards, this will be completely _off piste_ so to speak.

* * *

5 May 1897

Gilbert frantically called me this morning. Anne collapsed and has lost of great deal of blood. Gil had to carry her up to her bed and delivered her of a baby boy some time later. I'm quite convinced he saved both mother and baby. I listened to his panicky voice over the telephone, dropped the receiver and ran upstairs to pack and called for Davy to give me a lift to the station.

Thank goodness for Rachel. She can pick up the pieces where Davy is concerned, though it's not so difficult now as Dora is off our hands. Someone still needs to cook for Davy. I know he will care for the livestock in my absence. He's been doing most of the work for years now.

I'm praying that Anne and of course the baby will be well. All I know for certain at this stage is that Anne and he are still alive or were when last we spoke. Surely God couldn't be so cruel as to part my gorgeous girl from all her wee babies. Jem, Walter, Di, Nan and the baby need her so very much. As do I. Though it must be admitted that He has been known to part other equally deserving families.

Anne looks so peaceful lying serenely asleep in her bed. She could almost be dead apart from her very slow breathing. Her alabaster skin looks almost opaque, due to blood loss Gilbert says. Red hair spills around her head, I should brush and plait it. Gilbert says it's impossible to know just how long she will sleep, but he is moderately confident that she will survive.

Gilbert's chilling account of the last moments before she collapsed cut me to the core. They had been walking home from church. She wasn't as large as she had been with other pregnancies, but she was big enough. The children were all tumbling along the pathway, Jem shouting out _Alleluias_ at the top of his lungs. It was a beautiful morning, full of the promise of new beginnings. When suddenly Anne made a small sound, clutched her stomach and sunk to the ground. Gilbert thought she'd tripped at first, but the pooling blood told him otherwise and by then she had lost consciousness. Gilbert freely admitted that it was the most terrible moment of his life. I clutched his hand as he turned to me, the horror apparent in his eyes. Poor man.

Gilbert introduced me to Shirley after I had kissed Anne. He is tiny but seems to be thriving so far. Gilbert thinks it might have been placental abruption, a tearing in the womb. It sounds so very grave. He says we're lucky both mother and baby survived. I held Shirley's wee body cupped in my hands, perfectly formed with brown skin, so unlike his mother. Susan is caring for him so gently. She has improvised a pouch slung across her chest to keep him warm and has organized for the local mothers to provide milk. Thank goodness Susan is caring for Shirley, that's one weight off our minds.

* * *

6 May 1897

Anne sleeps.

If my prayers will do any good, I will be sending up as many as ever I can. I look at her lying there, her alabaster face looking paler than ever. If the Good Lord has any mercy surely, he will save the mother of all these gorgeous children.

As I sat with her I thought about the births that have come before. The tragedy of Joy, naturally; the utter relief when Jem was healthy. Walter's straightforward birth and the shock when Di was followed shortly after by Nan. Anne sighed that twins were in her make up. She looked so serene with a babe tucked in each arm, they looked so different from the beginning, Nan with her brown hair and Di with her mother's red. I stayed with her for a while after their birth

* * *

7 May 1897

Anne sleeps.

The children are worried about their mother. I do my best to reassure them, but I fear they see through my ruse. I have no more idea of her safety than anyone, still we all have a part to play. And I suppose Anne is still alive, her condition unchanged. Gilbert says she lost a great deal of blood, her body is just taking its time to recover.

I allowed the children to peek in at her through the doorway, but she is too ill to allow them close. The girls are really too young to understand why they can't hug her, but the boys are more aware. I don't know which is worse?

We three adults have our assigned roles. Susan is minding the house and tending to Shirley, I am caring for the older children and Gilbert? Gilbert must go back to work at some stage. I have suggested we engage a nurse to tend to Anne. Gilbert is resistant, saying we should be able to manage it between the three of us. I disagree, we all have enough on our hands and Anne needs constant attention.

I ordered Gilbert to sleep in a bed last night. He looks terrible, his hair is disheveled, he is unshaven. It is such a responsibility to be both her physician and her husband. I fancy he hasn't had a wink of sleep since she collapsed, but he can't go on like this. I told him I would keep an eye on Anne and would fetch him immediately if there were any change. Reluctantly he made his way to the spare bed. If he doesn't sleep tonight, I'll recommend he takes a sleeping draught.

* * *

9 May 1897

Anne sleeps.

We engaged a nurse yesterday; Miss Olive Biddle comes highly recommended. She will tend to Anne leaving us free to care for the other responsibilities which come with a large household. I admit I am relieved. I was worried that we were all stretched too thin, Gilbert most of all, naturally. Miss Biddle is a competent and caring woman, which is all you can ask for in a nurse. Upon spying Anne, she set about tidying her hair and straightening her bedclothes.

Much as I longed to stay with them, I could hear an altercation brewing in the garden, so I went down to sort the children out. I think I might take them to Green Gables for a week or so, just to give everyone a break. Rachel, Davy and Dora can give me a hand caring for them all.

Now I have a chance to sit with my Anne. It is strange to see her so terribly still. I can hear song birds singing outside, but inside this room the only sound is of her slow breaths.

I find myself thinking of Dora of all people. She has come along so well since she met Ralph. Seems all she needed was to get out Davy's shadow. When I think of how quiet and browbeaten she was when she first arrived. Of course, she was mourning her mother and the lose of her home; it was a big change in circumstances for her. If I found Davy challenging, what must it have been like for her, being the brunt of his antics? No wonder she was silent and biddable. It was one aspect of her life she could control.

But now, as Ralph's wife, her personality has transformed. She is chatty, funny and full of life. It is wonderful to witness. Her baby should be arriving in a few months. I wonder whether it will be a boy or a girl? Well no matter, so long as it is healthy.

Davy has been courting Millie for a few months now. She's a lovely girl, he could do worse than propose to her. At 23 he's a good age for marrying. I never thought I'd say those words. I wonder what his children will be like? Will they be full of as much curiosity and mischief as their father? That would be amusing to witness, if it were the case.

* * *

3 June 1897

Anne awoke.

I brought the children back to Ingleside today. They were so happy to see their mother again. Anne is awake and has joyfully made her acquaintance with her wee son. Shirley is still tiny. His wee brown body has been lying next to Susan's chest for weeks now. She and Gilbert have been feeding him with an eye dropper full of donated milk.

It was so gorgeous to see Anne's grey eyes finally wide open. I grasped her hand as she introduced me to my youngest and smallest grandson. "Hello Shirley."* I said, as I took him from her and cradled him in my arms.

Anne is still terribly weak. Nurse Biddle will stay a while yet until she is up and about. But now at least, with nourishment she is on the mend. Gilbert looks happier than he has for many weeks.

I fed her some soup this afternoon while the children were off reacquaintancing themselves with their dear Rainbow Valley. Miss Biddle and I helped her up into a sitting position, I laid a napkin over her chest and gently ladled a few spoonfuls of chicken soup into her mouth, like a bird. She didn't have much, but said she felt better for it.

Setting the soup to one side, I was able to tell her how very grateful we all were to the Good Lord above for saving her. I don't know how we would have coped if anything had happened to her. I didn't tell her that part of course, she doesn't need to hear it. In a voice not far above a whisper she asked how the children had behaved. They are all sweeties, I fancy after my baptism of fire with Davy, I can manage anything the Blythe children can dish up, even though I am older now.

* * *

4 November 1898

Terrible news, Caroline Blythe died suddenly last night. I hear John is devastated. She was the victim of a heart attack, just like my Matthew. They had been happily married these many years, my heart goes out to them all.

Any animosity I might have felt once has long since dissipated. It's been far too long to hold a grudge, especially since Anne and Gilbert's wedding and as we have joint grandchildren.

Anne and Gilbert are rushing over to be with him. I'll take some food over tomorrow.

* * *

12 December 1898

Mrs Theodore Emerson lost yet another husband, her fourth. Mr Emerson has been unwell for some time. The doctors have been at a loss as to the cause, but he has been going downhill for some months now.

There were mutterings at The Ladies Aid as this news was relayed. Four husbands in thirteen years is quite unusual. Rachel was still considering the story on our way home. She wonders if all the previous deaths were in fact, accidental?

* * *

10 January 1900

I had to go to town today to fetch a few groceries and pick up the mail, whilst I was there I bumped into John Blythe. He looks thin and well, old I guess, but if I think about it, I can still see a bit of the boy he once was. We greeted each other warmly and, on a whim, I invited him to dinner. What harm can come of it, after all? We are both adults. I'm sure the town gossips will have a field day, but it's not often these days that I am the subject of any gossip. Maybe it's about time I was again.

* * *

11 January 1900

We had a lovely evening together. How long has it been since we two were alone together? So long, I won't even consider calculating it. Suffice to say, it was delightful to have him in my kitchen. I served the beef stew I had prepared yesterday and a plum pie, which he seemed to enjoy. He admitted that he could cook, but it's mostly simple fare. We had a chuckle over the currant wine, recalling the time Anne got Diana Barry drunk. Trust the rumour mill to have spread that humiliating story around all of Avonlea.

John left after a couple of hours, and I was quite sad to see him go. The nights are rather lonely around here since Davy married Millie, so I was glad of his company. We shook hands when he left and promised to do it again.

* * *

16 January 1900

John came to dinner again last night, the second time this week. We find we are catching up on all sorts of news that we have missed over the last decades. It's just comfortable to have him around.

Rachel ribbed me about it at the store this morning. She thinks he's sweet on me. Of course, that's nonsense, we are too old for that sort of thing. I'm just enjoying his friendship.

* * *

5 March 1900

After all these long, long years John asked me for my hand in marriage.

I swooned.

I felt like such a fool when I came to, on the floor. What must he think of me? While I was out, he untied my stays because he thought the constriction couldn't be helping. I'm going to agree with him. I hope it's not because he wanted to see my underthings.

He was ever so considerate as it took me some time to recover. I felt dizzy and he cared for me quite beautifully. I had to ask him to repeat the question. My mind spun when he did so, and I was pleased I had stayed on the floor after all. I had to weigh the pros and cons. I was so discomposed I let him loose in my kitchen to wash the dishes, but in the end I acquiesced.

Finally, after all these years I will be Mrs John Blythe, only about 50 years later than expected. I fancy Avonlea will say we rushed into it, though nothing could be further from the truth.

We kissed. We kissed, I felt his soft lips upon mine, I kept breathing though, one faint a night is plenty. We hugged, the warmth of his strong arms around me. We laughed in sheer joy, relishing the moment. It has been a long time coming, but finally, oh finally, I will be his wife.

The only thing we are slightly apprehensive about is telling Gilbert. I am sure Anne will be delighted, but Gilbert only recently lost his mother and we fear may resent me.

Just saying _we_ instead of _I_ is thrilling. We are a couple now. I am part of a couple. It is an adjustment.

What can I say about my fiancé? Well he is certainly good looking. In fact, I think he is handsomer now than he was when he was young. He has greying hair and sparkly brown eyes. Sometimes I find myself lost in those brown eyes. Oh goodness I sound like a giddy young bride.

* * *

6 March 1900

We mystified Anne and Gilbert when we separately invited ourselves over to Ingleside. Ideally, we would have told the twins at the same time, but we couldn't contrive a way to manage it, and wanted to break the news as soon as possible. We have a wedding to plan!

I know Anne was delighted, but as expected Gilbert took longer to come around. It is only fair, of course, his beloved mother has only been gone for a short while. But eventually John and then Anne were able to explain the situation. It felt strange to me to be unable to help in any way. To be the problem, rather than the solution.

John took Gilbert to his study to discuss things while Anne and I decamped to the kitchen. Anne, I know, was torn. She wanted to be with Gilbert as he worked through the situation, but she did want to tell me how jubilant she was. We hugged and kissed as I told her, with some embarrassment about my reaction to his proposal. My darling Anne laughed and told me what kindred spirits we are after all.

John came in shortly after and Anne went to Gilbert. We shared a cup of tea, because according to John, talking to your son about your impending nuptials is thirsty work. I felt Anne and Gilbert were a bit shocked to find John and I locked in an embrace when they found us in the kitchen, but they quickly recovered.

Gilbert asked me what he should call me, his step mother-in-law or . . . ? I replied with a laugh that Marilla would do just fine and we hugged. I can't tell you how relieved that we have his blessing. I don't know that we would have not married without it, but it certainly makes life easier this way.

Anne of course went into planning mode. It's been decided that we will marry in early spring, I want some flowers for my bouquet. John is sorrowful that he has to wait that long, he would have gotten married today if he had his way.

* * *

* With thanks to **Elizasky** for her story _Hello, Shirley_ which has informed my recounting of Shirley's birth. If you haven't read it yet, I recommend it.


	23. Chapter 23

_After all the sorrow of the previous chapters, now to the fun stuff. Marilla's life is about to get a bit more interesting._

 _Thanks to all my story followers and reviewers, and of course, thanks for reading. If you would like to see something explored I'm happy to attempt to incorporate it. Just let me know._

* * *

7 March 1900

We told the grandchildren our news. I think they were delighted. Nan was bouncing up and down in excitement so I pulled her in for a big hug. I watched with a catch in my heart as Shirley clambered up on John's knee. Anne had told me they have a special bond, and it was sweet to witness it. They had a little whispered chat, about sledding, or so John told me later.

We have decided upon a spring wedding at Green Gables and the guest list has been set. I'm excited and trepidatious. I know Anne and Rachel will be me every step of the way. Well not _every_ step, obviously, but most of them.

Nan and Di will be joint flower girls and I've asked my darling Jem to act as Best Man. We have always been close, since the night he was born.

* * *

29 March 1900

Anne and I have to come to Charlottetown on a mission to find me a wedding dress. I would have been perfectly content to use my Sunday best, but Anne insisted. She says a bride must have a nice new dress and it is their treat, so I have reluctantly allowed her to accompany me. We are staying the night at a guest house, so we don't have to rush back. Once upon a time, we might have stayed with Miss Barry, but she is long gone.

The guest house is very neat and tidy and most importantly of all, clean. Anne explained the reason for our trip to the landlady and she very kindly suggested a few shops for us to investigate.

Anne took me shopping. I did not want to spend too much money, but she told me this was their wedding present. Do you know I was quite emotional at the sight of a particularly pink dress? How ridiculous that it took me back to that long-ago night. Anne was shocked by my reaction but was very sweet as I sobbed in her arms. In the end the dress we settled on is perfect. I've never worn anything so fine. Of course, I can't allow John to see it until our wedding day, that would be bad luck. I wonder what he will think of it?

* * *

4 April 1900

Seems weddings are in the air, Mrs Emerson has another fiancé. This will be husband number five. Maybe I should get some pointers from her? She seems to know how to find them, though on second thoughts, she has problems keeping them, so perhaps not.

* * *

13 May 1900

Rachel invited me to tea. My last afternoon tea at her house as Miss Cuthbert. "Now Marilla," she stated. "I feel it's my God given role to let you into some little secrets about the wedding night." She proceeded to tell me about the role a wife should play, but I put my hand up to stop her. Who does she think am? I may be a virgin of limited experience, but I'm no lily maiden, after all I have managed a farm for fifty years and lived here for several more. I have some inkling of what to expect.

* * *

16 May 1900

My wedding day.

My _wedding_ day.

How long have I waited to write those words?

I feel as though my whole life I have been off kilter but now it is as if a key has clicked into a lock with perfect alignment and all is right in my world.

My wedding day was perfect. Do you know I almost forgot what day it was when I woke up? But the girls soon reminded me. Dora brought me up some breakfast in bed and I encouraged them to help me eat it. We had a lovely moment together, just the three of us. Chatting, laughing, imagining the day.

Anne fixed my hair. I felt very special as they got me dressed. Nothing was too much trouble and I was thoroughly spoiled. As we put my outfit together, there was a little knock at the door. Anne opened it a crack in case it was John outside, but it was Jem and Walter. I allowed them in, looking all awkward and nervous. I suppose I looked quite different to them.

The sweet wee things had brought me some mementos for the wedding. Jem reminded me of the old rhyme, _Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue_. Their new and blue thing was a sweet little feather and the borrow and old thing was a tiny marble of Walter's, one of his most treasured possessions apparently. I crouched down and took them both graciously. They are such funny little things but given so solemnly. I promised Walter I would give him his marble back afterwards, because of course, he's only lending it to me.

As they were leaving I asked Walter to fetch Rachel. I just had a hankering for a chat with my oldest friend. A concerned Rachel came straightaway. I asked the girls to leave us alone for a moment and told Rachel that there was nothing amiss, I just needed her with me. She admired my dress. I told her that she had been my rock all these years and that I couldn't have managed without her. We both got a bit teary and hugged each other tightly. She gave me her blessings on my marriage. She really has been a source of comfort to me all these years. I have been so blessed to have her in my life.

Dora and Anne led me down. I spied John at the foot of the stairs, his face upturned towards me in rapture. He told me afterwards that I looked like an ethereal angel in my blue wedding dress. Jem led me through the crowd and to my husband's arm. We stood gazing at each other for what seemed an eternity until minister started intoning the marriage vows. Rachel told me afterwards that yes, she wept. But then she always weeps at weddings.

Afterwards we all sat down for the luncheon, which Rachel, Anne, Dora and myself had been preparing for some days. When most bellies were full, and the talk had dulled to a low roar, John got to his feet and made a beautiful speech. He had asked me in advance if I minded if he mentioned Caroline, and of course I said that was fine and perfectly understandable. They were happily married for many years. The crowd raised a toast to me. To Marilla _Blythe_ , my heart swelled as I gazed up at my husband.

I suppose they weren't expecting me to make a speech, but I have never been one to obey tradition. I recited Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon's _To My Husband on our Wedding Day_. The words seemed so fitting for the occasion. John looked up admiringly at me as I spoke.

Next folks rolled back the rug, Mr Gillis pulled out a fiddle he had secreted somewhere, and we proceeded to dance. John took my arm and we joyfully waltzed around the house, whilst our guests clapped and cheered. Soon most couples had joined us. I could see Anne and Gilbert, Davy and Rachel, the Barrys, Dora and Ralph, the little children dancing with each other. If they weren't dancing, they were clapping in time. Oh, it was a wonderful night. I was exhausted after a few dances, and John took me off the dance floor and fetched me a drink, but I was soon whisked off again for another turn. I believe I danced with every man there, including Jem, Walter and even little Shirley, though I had to hold him in my arms and spin around.

Eventually, our guests said their farewells. Dora had been stacking dishes in the kitchen for the last half hour and promised to return at some point to finish the washing for us, but we managed to shoo her out the door. We waved good bye to the last carriage, and I shivered, why I do not know? Well that's a lie, I do know why. I'm sure every bride is slightly nervous about their wedding night.

Much to my surprise, John picked me up and carried me over the threshold. I think I may have shrieked, and then giggled. I find I have spent more time laughing since he proposed than I have in the past decade.

Rachel tried to warn me about my wedding night, but she needn't have worried. John cared for me so sweetly. I admit though, it was not what I was expecting, it was far far better. I am confused though, what has the doctor been doing to me these many years? The sensation was similar, though I prefer John's technique. I suppose it means there's no need to visit him every month. I may as well save my money.

The next morning, John announced that I was his Queen and that I wasn't to lift a finger. Turns out he is an expert at breakfasts. He has a, how shall I say it, unusual serving method, but one that I thoroughly approve of, though I hope he only serves me in that manner. He seems to be keen on bathing, even going to the trouble of planning for this morning weeks in advance.

In any case after our bath we went back to bed, of all things, but for some reason I was exhausted. It had been a strenuous time, I suppose. I woke up to see John looking lovingly at me. It was a shock, I am unused to sleeping with anyone else, least of all a man. I called him _husband,_ a word I am getting fond of and he in turn called me _wife._ I rolled into his arms and we lay there together, enjoying each other in every way. We spent an inordinate amount of time in bed over the next couple of days. So decadent, but then you only get one honeymoon. Unless you are Mrs Emerson, but I hope I won't be in her position.

I think I'm going to enjoy married life.

* * *

A/N for a more in depth description of the last three paragraphs, I suggest you read my other story, _At Long Last_ (rated M).


	24. Chapter 24

21 May 1900

Funny to say, but I find married life simultaneously an adjustment and perfectly natural. I guess we fit together John Blythe and I. He looks after me so sweetly. He is continually caressing or kissing me. I might look up from something and find him staring at me. He says if I ask him that he is merely transfixed by my beauty. I'm sure he's joking, but truth be told, it is nice to hear it said.

Bedtime is particularly nice of course. I find we are going to bed earlier and earlier, and shamefully staying abed longer in the morning. It is not that we are always making love, though we do a fair bit of that as we are coming acquainted with each other's bodies; it is just that I enjoy being in proximity to his muscly body.

Having been so very independent all these years, I am actually enjoying having someone to care for me for once. I find I am eating better, it is so dull cooking for oneself, but I find I have a new lease on life now I am cooking for my _husband._

* * *

22 May 1900

Rachel paid me a visit. She of course, wanted to know all the sordid details of my new life. I merely told her that I was having a lovely time. It's absolutely none of her business. Still it's no wonder she and Thomas went to ground so completely after their own wedding. I did wonder at the time.

I'm cleaner than I've been in the past. Bath times are more enjoyable these days. We lock the door first and make sure we have plenty of hot water to hand. John likes to wash my hair. I like John to wash my hair too, and other parts. Bath time used to be pleasant enough, but with John it has taken on a whole new meaning.

Mind you, the one drawback of all this bathing is that I lose his body odour. He smells like vanilla, apples, straw and John, all in all a most delicious combination. He comes in from the barn and it is all I can do not to sniff him all over. When we are lying in bed, sometimes I do just that and he laughs at me, but then I think maybe he is doing the same to me as we discover each other's bodies. We are like explorers, mapping new lands.

All in all, I find I am very happily married. If I had known what I was missing out on, I would have done it far earlier, but then I might have married someone less suited. John is my one and only, we were destined to be together. I just had to bide my time.

* * *

24 May 1900

I find myself staring at John at times. I find him terribly handsome, possibly more so than when he was young. His curly grey hair is so distinguished, his eyes twinkle so fetchingly, his long limbs enwrap me with such strength and yet he is so tender. I love to run my fingers through his curly grey chest hair and I marvel at the thick hair on his arms and legs. Matthew wasn't as hairy, not that I often got to see his bare limbs. The very sound of John's voice sends thrills through my body. And as to his lips, well I never imagined anything could be so lovely. I had distant memories of kissing him. But the reality is far better.*

Hmm after all that I must go. Writing about him is nice enough, but embracing him is far more satisfying...

* * *

1 June 1900

We invited Anne and Gilbert over for the weekend. It was lovely to have a good catch up with them. They left the children at home this time. I prepared a simple supper of shepherd's pie and stewed fruit. I thought as it was somewhat of a special occasion I would serve my red currant wine too. I can't drink it without recalling Diana Barry, Anne said she felt exactly the same way.

I'm afraid John and I were rather rude. After dinner we hastened up to bed claiming that we were tired. I told John that we couldn't possibly make love, but with his trademark wicked grin he told me that having an audience rather excited him. When I stopped to think about it momentarily, I found I felt the same.

* * *

2 June 1900

Judging by Anne and Gilbert's reaction I fear we may have been a bit noisy in the night. John caught them trying to make an early get away. He told me that the minutes spent waiting for me to get dressed sufficiently to bid them a proper farewell, were some of the most deliciously uncomfortable he has spent in Gilbert's company. He grinned at them as they studied their shoes.

We waited til they were out of earshot and collapsed in laughter. I was laughing so hard I lost my footing. The only thing for it after, was to return to bed.

I do like to tease the youngsters. They need reminding that their parents may still have some fun, particularly at their expense.

* * *

6 June 1900

John surprised me this afternoon. He had been to town on a secret mission but refuses to tell me what he has been up to. He promises to let me know tonight.

He is such a tease, I begged him to tell me, but he is adamant that I must wait. I admit I pouted and stalked away, but he chased me and hugged me, telling me he will tell me all shortly. I hate to be angry with him and he brought me round to good humour once more as he nibbled my earlobe and caressed my chest. I told him I would wait, impatiently, but that I did not understand why it was necessary.

* * *

7 June 1900

Goodness me. John had quite the surprised planned for me. He plans to take me to New York City for a holiday. New York, fancy that! Why I've never even left Prince Edward Island, let alone Canada. I admit the thought of it does make me quite apprehensive. For one thing it will be full of Yankees, Rachel has such a low opinion of them. She has always declared that all manner of vices originate in that part of the world. John laughed at my misgivings, he merely thinks it will be a lovely adventure, which I suppose it might be.

* * *

8 June 1900

We are leaving in a fortnight. I do hope all will be well. I'm trying to put on a brave face about it, but I am nervous.

I broke the news to Rachel. She is delighted for us. Though she too has her misgivings about those Yankees. She minded me to be careful down there.

Apparently Mrs Emerson is now Mrs Guilfoyle. I do hope she has better luck this time.

* * *

15 June 1900

I find myself packing and repacking my case. John is doing his best to placate me, but I am unable to sleep at night imagining all sorts of disasters that might befall us on the way. What if we are waylaid by yankee robbers? What if Green Gables burns down while we are away? What if something happens to Anne or a grandchild and I'm far away? It is ridiculous I am sure, and yet I can't stop being anxious.

We leave tomorrow. I am still anxious. We plan to call in on Anne and Gilbert en route. It will be lovely to see them all.

* * *

16 June 1900

Rachel waved us off. She and Davy will keep a good watch over Green Gables so we have no need to worry on that front. Just as well, I am edgy enough as it is. I keep catastrophizing the train may break down or the ferry may founder.

I looked back at my dear home as we drove away and wondered if I would ever see it again. Silly really, I mean I leave it plenty of times and I've slept away from home on numerous occasions. It's just that I've never been on such a long journey before, that's the difference.

Gilbert brought Shirley with him to greet us at the station. I watched as he flung his arms around John. They have a lovely bond those too, it's very sweet to witness. Gilbert teased me about the amount of luggage I have brought. I admit I have packed quite a few dresses, mostly because I do not want to look like the country bumpkin I am.

Over tea we chatted about our plans. Something about actually stating them panicked me and I ran quickly out of the room, actually feeling quite bilious. I'm sure I left them all looking quite stunned, but I just had to get out of that room before I humiliated myself. I hoped they would leave me to it, but in fact Anne came to find me. She said afterwards that I looked quite green. After a drink of water, I did feel a bit better.

I couldn't stop shaking and after a few minutes John came to find me. He pulled my head into his lap and gently stroked it. He is so patient with me. I feel like such a fool, but he never said a thing about any of that, he merely told me about how he would look after me every step of the way. I'm sure I can trust him implicitly.

* * *

22 June 1900

We finally arrived here in New York City. I haven't had time to write before now.

We had a very enjoyable ferry journey, I did look back wistfully at the PEI shore, as its famous red cliffs disappeared over the horizon all too quickly. The ferry itself was comfortably appointed, I have heard all about it over the years from others who have taken the trip, so it was nice to see it for myself. Much to my relief it turns out I am a satisfactory sailor and did not find myself discommoded by the rocking. Which is as much a result of good luck as anything else. Many of our fellow passengers escaped to their berths as soon as we left dock, looking quite green.

John and I had the deck and dining room practically to ourselves. John informed me that it was far nicer out in the air than down below. A fellow passenger pointed out some dolphins leaping in the bow wave. They looked so carefree and beautiful, their silver skins flashing in the sunlight. I wondered what their life must be like. Cold and wet was John's unimaginative response. Anne would be so disappointed.

I marveled at seeing my new name written on the door of our train compartment, Mr and _Mrs_ Blythe. It was so unexpected that I nearly walked right by. I shall have to get accustomed to the change. I'm sure folks will be calling me Mrs Blythe all week. I've been Marilla or Miss Cuthbert for so long.

We had a delightful time in our little compartment. Size was no impediment. We did have afternoon tea in the dining car, but afterwards were delighted to avail ourselves of the picnic Susan Baker provided. I am sure she would not have expected us to eat her goods alone, but nevertheless she was extremely generous, which was a blessing. In fact we did not have to, nor did we, leave the compartment for the rest of our journey. It met all our requirements. I am enjoying all manner of new experiences since our wedding. Train beds are very narrow, which proves challenging, but John is nothing if not intrepid.

And so, our journey was over.

My first impression of the place is that it smells. There is an all pervading pungent odour of rotting flesh**, from the horse carcasses we are led to believe. It really is quite disgusting at first, though it is less noticeable after a couple of days. They say it's far worse in August and barely noticeable in December.

New York is so very big. There are tall buildings wherever I look, there must be to accommodate such a large population, nearly a million souls I am told, though it is hard to fathom that many people living all jammed together.

John was delighted to see an automobile yesterday. He marvelled at the ingenuity of man. "Just imagine, Mar" he said "one day, everyone will get around in these contraptions." They look too fast for me, I would be petrified to travel at that speed in such a small conveyance. John replied that we travel faster in a train, but I feel quite safe there. I suppose he's right, but still an automobile looks unsafe. I shall stick to horse drawn carriages.

We are staying at a nice hotel on Madison Square, in their Honeymoon Suite. I protested, but John insisted, saying that after all we are on our honeymoon. The room was very well appointed and even had a bathroom attached. After the grime of the train, it was delicious to sink into a bath. They have hot running water here. All the maid had to do was turn a faucet for piping hot water. Afterwards a plug is uncovered to let the water drain away. What an incredible advancement. The room is lit with electric lights. I admit it is a little too bright for me.

My wardrobe is quite insufficient. Upon seeing me unable to find anything suitable to wear, John offered to take me shopping on the morrow.

* * *

* John is merely starting (or continuing) the Blythe kissing tradition here, I wonder if he gave Gilbert classes?  
** Sorry about this, if you have, or have not read my other story, dead horses were a major problem in big cities. I figure there were no cities in PEI where this was a particularly big problem, though Charlottetown may have been a contender. Also there was the problem of dried horse dung floating in the air. Automobiles were considered a clean alternative to horses when they were first developed.


	25. Chapter 25

23 June 1900

New York City, imagine that. We are in New York City. I know I've been here a couple of days already, but the very name still gives me a thrill. Like Anne all those years ago, I find myself pinching my arm to make sure it's real.

John took me shopping this afternoon. I was quite overwhelmed with the array of dresses on offer. John told the assistant to show me what was available. We sat down as a parade of models walked in front of us, showing off the latest fashions. In the end I chose something that was not too expensive, but which I felt might make me look less the country bumpkin I feel. My cheeky John whispered that he preferred me without any dress upon my body, but I swatted him away. A woman likes to look her best when she is out and about.

When I put the dress on back at our hotel, I asked him to do up the buttons as they were at the back. In typical teasing, but delicious Blythe fashion, he kissed my back every time he did up a button. It slowed down the process, but it was delightful nevertheless. When he had done up the last button he whispered in my ear that he looked forward to the reverse process. I turned around and told him I did too, but that we must go out. I don't want to waste my sojourn, as delectable as that sounds.

We saw the most amazing art works today at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was particularly taken with the Impressionists. One painting by Frenchman Paul Gaugin, disturbed me somewhat. It was called The Moon and the Earth*, he had painted a nude islander woman hugging a black god. I never thought of a god being darkly complexioned. And the woman was most indecently undressed. It was most disconcerting. I found it the most memorable of the art works I spied. I find I cannot stop thinking about it.

* * *

24 June 1900

This morning we found ourselves outside a Vaudevillian Theatre. In the spirit of adventure, we decided to wander in. It was a wonderful experience. First of all, we saw a trained dog performing tricks. He was so funny as he walked on his hind legs, caught balls in his mouth and balanced on a tightrope. I wonder how the owner trains it? An accordion player was up next, followed by two men who performed a comedic skit.

The next thing I knew a short man with a curly moustache was on stage and my John, my love, was being invited up on stage. The man introduced himself as the Great Stupendo.

We made the audience laugh when we admitted we had only been married for a couple of months. I suspect we don't look like most newly married couples. Stupendo teased me too when he told me he could make John disappear. I didn't want to lose sight of him for even a minute, so I didn't give him leave to perform that particular trick which caused the audience to laugh again. I was feeling quite uncomfortable and was pleased to leave the theatre after John had finished the trick.

I am surprised to find the New York accent quite difficult to understand, more so when the speaker is of another origin. The hotel concierge directed us to an Italian restaurant around the corner for dinner tonight. I found the maître de particularly incomprehensible. In any case they could understand us, and they served us a delicious dish of what was called 'spaghetti'. I admit it looked like long worms, covered in a meaty sauce. It was delicious and a new experience for us both.

After dinner we went for a walk enjoying the ambience when John announced that he had heard that Longacre Square** was particularly lovely by night. We hailed a carriage and had a most perplexing conversation with the driver who thought that Canada was overridden by bears and that we all spoke French. Quite odd.

In any case he delivered us to Longacre Square which was so bright it could have been midday and far more colourful. There were masses of people milling about enjoying the bright lights. I found it exciting but somewhat exhausting and we soon found ourselves a carriage to take us back to the hotel.

I find the electric light in the room so bright I can easily write by night, so these entries are being written later than usual. It's handy because I'm usually too busy mid-afternoon.

* * *

25 June 1900

Our last day in New York. We take the morning train home tomorrow.

Today we spent wandering around Central Park. The city fathers did New York a great favor when they planned this park. It is like a slice of wilderness surrounded by office blocks. It was delightful to watch all manner of people taking the air. It's full of structures including a castle. We enjoyed a cool drink and a sandwich for lunch purchased at a café within its spacious grounds. After lunch we wrote some postal cards to the grandchildren, whom I am sure, will be delighted to receive them.

This has been a delightful adventure, but I will be pleased to get back home. There really is no place quite like my beloved Green Gables.

* * *

28 June 1900

It was so wonderful to spy my home nestled in amongst the rolling hills. We have only been gone a couple of weeks, but I must say I missed it terribly. Rachel had stocked the pantry for our return and Dora had set the fire, so the house was ready for our arrival.

I will write to Anne to tell her we made it home safely and all about our travels.

* * *

3 July 1900

We are so comfortable together.

We just fit together so wonderfully. I can barely believe I ever wasn't married to this man. My spinsterhood feels like a distant dream. I find I am glancing his way often. just knowing he is around the place makes me happy, even if he's out tinkering in the barn, I know he's nearby. He comes in for meals of course, I ring the dinner bell like always and my beloved comes running. He is an enthusiastic eater and loves my baking. I had been baking less as I found it impossible to finish a cake before it went off, but I find I have renewed vigor.

If he sees me when I see him, he always has a smile for me, or he may wander over to caress or kiss me, usually both. I find we are making love at all sorts of times and in sorts of places. The barn is not terribly comfortable, ask me how I know? The straw stabs my back, I always expected it would be more comfortable than it is in reality. The cow may look at us askance, but I find I rather like having her as an audience.

I love to wake up next to him. Usually I'm awake first, but if he wakens before me, he wakes me up too in the most delicious manner. Honestly sometimes it makes me cry. I never knew what I was missing out on. Of course, in a way, we are almost luckier than young couples, there's no need to worry about repercussions. We can merely enjoy ourselves with no thought of procreation.

Once I wanted babies, the unfulfilled yearning nearly broke my heart. Now I am content to have my grandchildren, I'm too old, I don't have the energy for children. We mind Davy and Dora's children on occasion and that is exhausting enough.

* * *

6 July 1900

I have invited Rachel over for dinner tomorrow night. It will be lovely to have a good catch up. I don't see as much of her as I used to. I must make sure we look after her. I'm sure she gets lonely rattling about her place all alone.

* * *

7 July 1900

Dinner did not go well. Rachel was as good company as ever, but John made me very angry.

It all boiled down to politics. Even amongst one's most beloved it seems it is a bad idea to discuss it.

In fact, it was Rachel who brought it up. She thinks tariffs are hurting trade. I opposed her, I think the government is protecting the citizens. All was going well, I mean we disagreed, but we were debating the matter at hand quite politely until John had to stick his oar in by declaring that it didn't matter what either of us had to say as we couldn't vote anyway.****

I was so angry at his dismissive attitude that I ran upstairs in tears. I heard the door close behind them both when he took Rachel home and it open and close again shortly thereafter when he returned. I turned my back to him when he came upstairs and edged to the side of the bed. I did not want to touch him or he to touch me. I was still extremely upset. I momentarily considered moving to the spare bedroom, but then decided that if anyone should move it should be John. He was in the wrong after all.

He did apologise, but I was still angry. It wasn't until he had apologized several times that I was able to accept it. When he touched me with one gentle finger I could hold out no longer and we embraced.

I have learnt one thing through this; I absolutely HATE arguing with him.

* * *

8 July 1900

I had to have a chat with John about last night. He completely shut me down. He didn't listen to my opinion at all. I may be a woman, I may not have the vote, but that doesn't mean I can't have a say one way or the other. I'm not completely ignorant. I'm sure Caroline would not have put up with that sort of behaviour, so I'm surprised he tried it on with me.

He was contrite and promised never to do that again. He even said he would vote conservative to placate me and on my behalf. I admit that did somewhat mollify me, but not completely. My anger was not merely because of the way he choses to vote, but how he behaved about it in the first place.

* * *

19 July 1900

Dora brought the children around yesterday. Little Sara is growing so fast. She's just learnt to move and is so proud of herself, though she's decided that shuffling around on her bottom is preferable to the more conventional crawling. Mind you, it means we have to put all the precious things out of harm's way. John constructed some fireguards, so she can't get too close to the fires or the stove. At this age, they have no sense. It is quite odd to see her almost galloping along, her bottom moving across the floor*** with her legs dragging her along from the front, it seems quite uneconomical in movement, but it gets her around pretty quickly. I fancy I could employ her to polish my floors.

Dora is enjoying motherhood and not surprisingly makes a wonderful mother as I always expected she would; though she had practically no role models, being so young when her own mother passed away and her being so sick beforehand, and being replaced by myself, no mother at all. I feel in hindsight that Dora was somewhat overlooked. I feel guilty about that, but I was rather run off my feet with Davy's antics.

* * *

3 August 1900

Rachel hosted the Ladies Aid this morning. Do you know, it's ridiculous really, but I always felt a bit uncomfortable at their meetings? Mostly because I was the only spinster in attendance. I felt as though they were in on some secret joke at my expense. Well no longer.

Mrs Bell asked me if married life agreed with me. I'm sure she was angling for some sordid information. Although I imagine they think I'm still a shriveled up old thing, unable to satisfy a man. I told them that I enjoyed married life very much. Mrs Bell just had to press harder and asked if I enjoyed that _aspect_ of marriage. I could practically hear her italics, I did not deign to answer her. Instead I just stared at her with raised eyebrows until she became quite uncomfortable and changed the subject. Honestly these women, it's outrageous.

Mama, may she rest in peace, would have been quite angry with me, I'm sure, behaving in that manner.

. . .

Actually, I've been thinking about that last statement. I don't think Mama would be angry at all. I think she would be applauding me.

* * *

8 August 1900

Rachel came to visit, brandishing a Yankee newspaper courtesy of her daughter, Sarah, who sends her these things. There has been a terrible double murder down in Boston****. An aged gentleman and his wife have been hacked to pieces. A grisly deed. It sounded so awful that I had to stop Rachel from reading it all out to me, instead she limited herself to telling me the highlights. It seems an axe was the murder instrument. I admit I felt a bit faint when I heard that.

I fancy we will be hearing quite a bit about this story in the days to come.

* * *

* You can Google this painting. I saw it recently at our local Gallery, but usually it resides at MOMA in NYC.  
** Original name for Times Square, which was renamed after The New York Times moved there in 1904  
*** I was a bum shuffler, like Sara. We are notoriously slow to walk.  
**** Canadian women were only granted suffrage in 1917.  
***** The murder actually happened in 1892, see my earlier note regarding timelines.


	26. Chapter 26

_Today marks my first FanFiction Anniversary. Yes, just twelve short months ago I took the plunge, with encouragement from the marvelous Mrs VonTrapp, and published **In the Wee Sma's**. Little did I know how addictive this hobby would be and how my life would be transformed._

 _My thanks to all my co-conspirators, MrsVonTrapp, OriginalMcFishie, Elizasky, kslchen, Excel Aunt, alinyaalethia, AnnewithanEStory, Mavors4986, Catiegirl, Katherine-with-a-k, rebeccathehistorian, catiegirl, and hecalledmecarrots you all inspire and push me in ways I never thought possible. Thank you too, to all my reviewers and readers. I couldn't have done it without you._

 _I haven't posted in this story since early September, my apologies. I left Marilla on the brink of the Borden case._

* * *

10 August 1900

Yet more news from the Borden case as it's now been dubbed. The authorities still have no idea who perpetrated it. The family were feeling ill beforehand. It seems the wider family has offered a reward of $5,000 for the detection of the murderers. What a sum! They must be wealthy folk.

I can't imagine how grisly the house must have been following the deeds. It all sounds absolutely ghastly.

* * *

18 August 1900

Rachel came rushing up brandishing her Yankee newspaper. I admit John and I were intrigued by the latest update. According to the newspaper report the daughter, Lizzie Borden committed the murders. She was served with a warrant of arrest and was jailed. A woman, goodness me, what is the world coming to? Still as John reminded us, she is innocent until proven guilty. Judging by Rachel's look at his remark, she had forgotten that salient aspect of the law.

* * *

15 September 1900

I wrote to Anne today inviting her to a party to be held in Matthew's honor. It will be his 75th birthday next month. I can't believe it's been so long since he passed away. He was never a voluble man, but he was my dearest brother who stood by me those many years. I will forever miss him. I know Anne feels the same way. In fact, looking back, I think we made a good pair of parents. I was more practical, he more fanciful. Together we muddled through. Certainly all Anne has accomplished since he passed would surprise him, I'm sure.

I can barely recall my reaction when he died. I know I behaved in a manner most unlike me. All my emotions, hitherto bottled up, came rushing to the fore. I did not expect him to die like that, to die at such an early age, though given his previous heart problems, perhaps it should not have been such a shock. Still, I thought I would have a longer time with him.

I suppose it was Anne I felt most sorry for at that time. She had to give up her college aspirations. She seemed to do it willingly enough, but I wish I hadn't needed her so much, that she could have got the benefit of that hard-won scholarship.

He never said much, my brother, but when he did speak it was worth listening. When he suggested seeking some help around the farm, I admit I had misgivings. And when Anne turned up, I was angry, I admit it. Such a simple request went so spectacularly badly. Still, it worked out in the end didn't it? I honestly can't imagine how my life would have turned out without my Anne-girl.

* * *

4 October 1900

Matthew's birthday party was a huge success.

All our preparations were worth it. It was marvelous to see the grandchildren. It must have been strange for them, to be celebrating the birthday of a man they never met, but Anne said she had always told them about him, so they weren't completely ignorant. I showed them a photograph I had of him, which of course, they had seen before. Still, it was nice to give him at pride of place at the table.

We spent a lovely afternoon swapping Matthew stories. Anne stunned me when she confessed that it was Matthew who persuaded her to apologise to Rachel all those years ago, all this time I thought I had worn her down. It was my darling Matthew, the very same man who promised not to put his oar in who managed it. My stars, I was shocked.

Poor Anne, she still feels guilty about not being the expected boy. I hope I was able to reassure her, Matthew never wanted any boy, not after he met her. Sure, a boy might have helped around the farm, but Anne brought joy into our lives, in a way no boy probably could. I know Matthew told her that often enough, but the initial reaction was the one that stayed with her, even after all these years.

Anne asked me to join her in a walk down to the graveyard to put some roses on his grave. We left the family behind and wandered down for a private memorial. Hand in hand we walked down the lane. The autumn leaves are turning, and the lane is so very beautiful at this time of year. What did Anne once say about Octobers, again? That she was pleased she lived in a place that had them, or some-such?

The grave looked very neat. The little thorny rose bush Mama brought out from Scotland all those years ago is still flowering. It looks so sweet there. Anne laid her roses down and together we said a little prayer as we held hands.

She's grown now, but she will always be my little girl who I love so much. I'm sure Matthew was looking down on us from heaven. Anne pointed out a cloud which she fancied might have been him. She's just as fanciful and romantic as ever and I adore her for it.

* * *

13 November 1900

John and I have been married for about half a year now. I must say, I can barely recall the time before. It's a good time to reflect on the aspects of the relationship that I adore the most. Well of course, there is one aspect that is very enjoyable - yes, the sex. I had not thought it was so important, that I was missing out on so much. But our love-life is delicious, I cannot get enough of it. John is such an attentive lover, he is always finding new ways to woo and delight me. How lucky am I?

I was talking with Rachel the other day, about how our roles have reversed now. It's interesting to me that Rachel was ignorant about my feelings as she had one child after another.

John joined us later on, and the talk turned to the Boulter funeral. Poor Robert had been a stalwart of the community, it will be strange not to see him in Church come Sunday. Though I suppose he's not been in a few months, since this last illness struck him down. Naughty Rachel stunned me with a piece of gossip she'd over heard the other week. That Robert never thought their twins were his. I refuse to believe that Lily Boulter could ever have been unfaithful. I implored Rachel never to breathe another word of this abroad. It would be so damaging to the Boulter family, and what does it achieve? Honestly, how am I to face Lily at church this Sunday? I wish Rachel had kept the rumor to herself.

* * *

13 December 1900

I was thinking about the sense of touch yesterday. No one ever touched me for years and years, decades in fact. I had developed such a thick shell. It was only baby Jem who broke through my defenses. Such a sweet little chap, and so loving. We have such a strong bond he, with his mop of red hair, and I.

I recall Anne sighed over it when he was first born, but Gilbert and I adored it from the get-go, as we adore her hair. I remember when Anne called it the 'bane of her existance'. She did suffer so. She says she can't laugh at her younger self, she remembers what a trial it was.

We've been invited up to Anne's for Christmas. Our first as a married couple. It will be lovely to see them all again. I'm baking and sorting out what to take along. The children will expect presents I expect. I've wrapped a wee present for Rachel and I'll give it to her before we depart.

Mrs Bell hosted the Ladies Aid this month. We have all been asked to provide a meal for a struggling family. It is a difficult time of the year if money is tight. I remember what it was like for us after Matthew passed. I feel particularly sorry for Lily Boulter, that first Christmas after your loved one dies is always hardest.

* * *

22 December 1900

Rachel and I celebrated Christmas early this year as John and I will be leaving for Glen St Mary tomorrow.

I wandered down to hers for afternoon tea. It had snowed in the night, there's something primeval about breaking fresh snow. I used to love it as a child. Now, it's hard work and my feet get wet, but I still get a little thrill.

It was lovely and warm as usual in Rachel's parlor. My stockings were wet, so I took my boots off at the door and left them to dry by the fire. I could only do it because Rachel and I are such old friends. Sometimes we have to adapt to the weather around here this time of year.

We had a lovely yarn about how my life has changed in the past few months. I had brought her a platter when we were in New York and I was happy to present it to her today which delighted her. She gave me a beautiful knitted blanket, just the thing for these cold nights. She also presented me with a small gift for Anne which I shall deliver with her love and Christmas wishes.

She is off to her daughter, Eliza's, for Christmas. I'm sure she will have a lovely time. We gave each other a warm hug and kiss as we parted. We won't see each other until next year. Rachel can be exasperating at times, but I do love her so.

* * *

27 December 1900

Goodness, I'm exhausted. We are having a wonderful Christmas. I'm doing things I never expected I would. It's been an adventure, I must say.

We timed our arrival after the children had gone to bed, to hide the presents from enquiring little eyes. They were delighted to meet us at the breakfast table the next morning, and soon we had planned to go sledding for the day. Sledding! Can you imagine it at my age? Well I agreed to go along, just to watch. We brought plenty of warm blankets to keep me and the small ones warm and dry while the others were enjoying themselves.

The track was beautiful when first we spied it. Virgin snow, gently curving down the hill. Jem went first, causing John to whisper to me that breaking new snow was one of his favourite childhood memories. Eventually the forest came alive to the whoops and screams of small people (and some not so small) flashing down the hill. Rilla made us all laugh when she screamed all the way down and immediately asked for another go.

I haven't been sledding for years, but it all came back to me when John encouraged me to climb aboard a sled myself. All of a sudden, I was a ten-year-old again, flying down the hill towards the Barry's lake, my eyes watering in the wind. I must say I was delighted that Gil had the horse on hand to carry me back up the hill though. I don't think I could have managed that myself. Those Blythe men sure know how to look after us Green Gables' women.

Christmas morning was as nice a morning as I can ever remember. John dressed up as Santa and gave all the children little gifts. He asked me if I had been naughty or nice and gave me a kiss when I told him I had been a little of both. I've been smiling ever since. He whispered that he had a little surprise for me later. I'm sure I will enjoy it.

I'm off to bed now, even though it's only 4.00 o'clock, I feel exhausted and a bit achy, no doubt from all our exertions lately. It's been a busy few days.

* * *

4 January 1901

It's been a while since I last wrote, I've been ill.

I was struck down by some unnamed virus and I've been asleep for days and only woke up properly yesterday. Poor John was terribly worried. He only just lost Caroline, he couldn't bear to lose me too.

John was sitting with me when Jem cracked open the door and peered in asking me how I was. When I told him I was feeling better, but I didn't see myself going sledding again anytime soon, the poor lad burst into tears. He felt responsible for my illness. I was able to reassure him, as he lay there sobbing that it wasn't any one's fault. I had enjoyed my time with the family, I wouldn't change it for anything, even the last few lost days.

* * *

5 January 1901

Anne came to sit with me this morning. Seems everyone had an interesting time when I was asleep; each of them reflecting on their relationship with me. Funny how that happens.

Anne told me how unsettled she was when she first arrived at Green Gables all those years ago. I thought once the matter of the amethyst brooch was settled, she knew she was safe with us, but it appears it took far longer. I had no idea. It wasn't until I defended her to Mrs Barry when we managed to get Diana drunk, that she knew I wasn't going to send her back.

I feel so remorseful about that time. I should have told her, why didn't I? Why was I such stickler for the rules? I could have shown the little waif a bit more love. I certainly felt it at the time.

John was able to settle me down. He told me that it's a testament of my love that I can still feel remorse after all this time. I do love him so, he is so good to me. I am so lucky we found each other again.

* * *

20 January 1901

John and I returned home after a longer than anticipated trip to Green Gables. It has taken me quite a while to recover my strength sufficiently to travel. I admit, I was a little concerned beforehand about the state of the house, knowing I was not yet up to full strength, but Rachel had it all in hand. She had baked, and had the stove lit and some things in the pantry ready for us.

We had a good chat over a cup of tea as soon as we arrived, but I could feel my strength flagging and I went up to bed shortly after.

John joined me in bed after Rachel went home. We made love, we haven't done that for weeks. I was ill, and I didn't want to upset the grandchildren. It was decadent, but delightful. All the emotion caused my darling John to burst into tears. He told me how worried he had been when I was laid low. I assured him that God couldn't part us when we had just reunited.

* * *

23 January 1901

Queen Victoria died yesterday. Goodness, that was a shock. The papers had been full of her illness for some days now. She's been our Queen since I was just thirteen. Goodness, now I see it written down, that is a long time.

I remember the excitement in the papers at the celebrations for her Jubilee, just four years ago. We provincials in the Dominion only got to read about it, but even Carmody held a small celebration in her honor.

Her son Edward VII will be King next. I wonder what the Edwardian age will bring?


	27. Chapter 27

Last time I wrote in _Marilla's Diary_ I apologised for being a bit slow to update. Well it's been a nearly year since, so that is quite a break. It's easy writing so I'll try to be more consistent from now on. If you've been attentive you will see that I have been busy with other projects this year, so I hope I will be excused.

* * *

10 March 1901

What a busy time we've been having. We celebrated our first wedding anniversary and John took me to the White Sands Hotel. So grand, it's not often I've been spoiled like this in my long life. The last time I was here was when Anne recited. I felt very out of place then, but nothing like as out of place as I felt actually walking up the terribly grand staircase to our room, I felt like such an interloper, but John was with me the whole way. When I hesitated on the first step, he squeezed my hand most encouragingly.

Our room is sumptuously appointed. I turned to John when we were shown it because surely this wasn't our room. He on the other hand merely paid the porter a small gratuity and jumped on the bed testing it, he said, for comfort. I waited until the porter had left and then let him pull me down on to the mattress, which I can report is wonderfully relaxing. Beds are so variable, but I will confess this is more comfortable than the one we have at home.

I made a fuss when John tried to unbutton my dress, but in all honesty I was in vacation mode and after all we are a married couple alone in a hotel room. He can get a bit frisky in those situations and I allowed him to kiss me as we lay on the bed and I admit I enjoyed it.

Isn't it ridiculous how seldom we get to the beach despite living on a small island? I did enjoy watching John frolic like a schoolboy in the waves. Not that that was his initial intention, but waves are fickle things and his trousers got an unexpected dunking. As his is wont he took it in good humour and implored me to join him. Of course, I could do no such thing, but I did dare to take my shoes and stockings off when we sat on the sand. I must say the sand was deliciously soft against my toes. Though now I sit here at the desk squirming a little. The sand seems to have infiltrated my underclothes and is vexingly itchy. John, in his customarily cheeky fashion enquired as to where he might find the sand later tonight. Even now he makes me smile.

There is to be a concert tonight and we were fortunate to meet the entertainers. Mr Andrew Smithers and his wife Constance are a delightful couple from America. I have never actually spoken to a Yankee before; wait til I tell Rachel her eyebrows will rise of that I'm sure and certain. In any case they made us smile because while we had been enjoying the warm sun, they were complaining that it was bitterly cold.

John enjoyed some spitched eel for dinner, a delicacy I have not tried before. I tried a morsel but confess it was not to my taste. He looked quite disappointed, but at least it meant he got to enjoy his entire serving rather than having to share it with me. I should think he was happy.

* * *

11 March 1901

The concert was divine. Mrs Smithers is wonderfully talented. I have no idea what she was singing about, but she poured passion into every note. They joined us for a drink afterwards and we shared our unusual story with them. Thankfully they left us after one drink leaving us free to retire.

We return home this afternoon; it has been a splendid interlude. John does spoil me so, not that I am complaining.

* * *

29 March 1901

The children are due to come and visit for a weekend soon, so I am busily getting the house ready for their appearance. John walks around unhelpfully pointing out spots that need cleaning with a grin on his face.

Men!

* * *

6 April 1901

A terrible accident occurred last week; I've not had time to write before now. John slipped in a muddy patch and broke his leg, my poor darling.

He has mentioned that puddle on numerous occasions, but never had time to do anything about it. Now he has time to rue that decision, too much time as it happens.

It was just providence that I heard him at all. He could have lain in that mud for hours yet and we might have really been in trouble. As it happened I did hear his cries for help. I admit I panicked when I found him stuck in the mud. The wind and rain had intensified by then and it was pretty cold I must say, we didn't have time for me to go into shock also and fortunately John was able to bring me to my senses even as he lay on the ground.

The last thing I wanted to do was leave him stranded there, and he told me afterwards that watching me disappear was a low moment. But we had no choice, I couldn't move him by myself we needed help. Fortunately, Rachel was at home so she summoned help, first Davy and then to the doctors. I sat with John in the pouring rain and we sang songs to keep him conscious. Davy said afterwards that the sight of us singing Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-de-ay is one he will likely never forget. I smile as I write this, but it was a dire situation.

The day is full of memories; the sound of John screaming as Davy pulled him out of the muck is another one I fancy I will hear evermore. We put John in Matthew's bed; a good decision in hindsight. I miss him in my bed, but it has made nursing him far easier.

Dr Mustard bound his wound with plaster of Paris, so now my love lays in his bed while the bones slowly knit.

* * *

8 April 1901

Anne arrived as soon as she could. It did my heart good to see her rush to John's side. She has joined the chorus who implored me to employ a nurse to help with John's care. Naturally I demurred, I can manage on my own. Still it was nice to have her around for a few days.

Dora arrived to help out and she and Anne had a nice reunion. I do so love to see my girls together. These sisters see so little of each other now. Anne admitted to me that she still thinks of Dora as being a little girl and gets a small shock when she sees her as an adult now. I suppose there is such an age difference between them, still I think Anne should move on. It's been a long time since Dora was that six year old girl being tormented by her brother.

* * *

11 April 1901

I hate to say, but I have to admit the nurse Miss Weekly is a great help. I probably could not have coped on my own for long. Nursing a full-grown man is a big job. She is far stronger than I and has practical training. It does mean also that John is being cared for more professionally than I could manage and that is the important thing, I suppose. My pride can be my downfall at times, I confess. I was running myself rather ragged, with her assistance I have some much needed time to myself.

* * *

6 May 1901

It has been a long month.

I do my best to keep John entertained, but the hours drag for us both. We read books, the newspaper, neighbours visit; yet the hours pass by slowly. John is not in as much pain as before so we weaned him off the morphia which can be horribly addictive according to Gilbert.

He and Anne brought the children by one weekend. It was wonderful to see them they are growing up much too quickly. The children tumbled into the house together one afternoon filling the house with noise in the way only they can manage. Shirley in particular was sorrowful to see his grandfather laid low and spent long hours with him.

I could perceive though, that the children exhausted John. I shouldn't say it; but we were all rather pleased when they left, though the house seems desperately quiet without them.

* * *

6 June 1901*

The Borden Trial opened yesterday and we, like folk worldwide, have been following every news report avidly. I suppose it's ridiculous to be so intrigued by it, but it has been an interesting case. I can't help but feel sorry for poor Lizzie, though if Rachel had her way the woman would already have been hung, drawn and quartered.

* * *

21 June 1901

Miss Borden got off. She was released with the court's apology yesterday and now no one has a clue as to who the perpetrator was. Rachel is particularly upset, she has been somewhat, how shall I put it? Invested - in the whole affair. Knowing her proclivity for gossip this should come as no surprise, yet she has gone further this time than even her usual self. We had some sharp words about it today and she went off in a huff. I suppose I shall have to go down in a day or so to apologise.

* * *

23 June 1901

To my surprise Rachel came up to apologise today. In fact I was about to go down to hers but she saved me a trip. I suppose I was too harsh she is entitled to her opinion after all. From his bed John gently told me I should be more considerate. I rolled my eyes at his summation, it was a bit rich coming from him. He's never been particularly tolerant of Rachel. But she is my friend more than she is his, I suppose.

Anyway, Miss Weekly served a nice cup of tea accompanied by a slice of Rachel's 'peace offering' teacake, her words not mine and we sat around John's bed enjoying a nice visit. I am just pleased we cleared the air, I do so hate to quarrel.

* * *

4 July 1901

Finally, the long-awaited day arrived. Dr Mustard called by to say enough time had passed and he wanted to take the cast off John's leg. It does look strange now. All white and skinny, the muscles having wasted.

We got him upright for a moment but quickly laid him back down when it looked as if he might faint. It is not pleasant to watch your loved one in that situation, his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he went very pale; peely wally as Mama would have put it. He told me afterwards that he felt very queer and very much relieved when he was laid down on his familiar bed again, much as he longs to leave it.

* * *

6 July 1901

Dr Mustard left John a walking stick so Miss Weekly & I are teaching him to walk again. He has little patience for the whole endeavour. I do commiserate, but he has no choice. We have to get him up and moving again. I find myself losing my tolerance when he complains and I snap back at him. Sometimes Miss Weekly sends me out of the room, he behaves better for her.

* * *

9 August 1901

The children's visit that had to be postponed due to John's accident has been rescheduled for next weekend. This time, as they are on school vacation they are coming for a fortnight. I've been baking in anticipation and now as I sit waiting for the men to deliver them, I look around the house. It is awash in vases of flowers, the floors have been scrubbed, beds made. I am just taking a deep breath as I eagerly anticipate my darlings' arrival.

* * *

12 August 1901

Goodness what a busy time we've had. The children are delightful; growing as you might expect. It's the little ones I really see the difference in naturally. Rilla is less a toddler and more a little girl, but they are all changing. I gave them all chores to do, though I made a bit of a mistake when I put Rilla in charge of egg collection. I had forgotten how intimidating those chickens might be to such a wee one. Since her big sisters refused to help her, I reassigned their chores so now Rilla will help me in the garden while the older girls tend to the fowl.

* * *

15 August 1901

This child-minding lark is no joke, I'm exhausted. We had a cooking lesson the other day. I can't remember a time when I couldn't break eggs, but even that is a skill the children had to learn. We wasted a few eggs and they made a terrific mess, but I suppose it's no matter.

John found me fast asleep afterwards and reminded me that Anne has help and is after all younger which made me feel better about the situation.

* * *

16 August 1901

We sent the children to the Wrights' for a visit and I must say I did enjoy the peace. John and I even managed to squeeze a nap in which was very welcome. After their return they all sat around in the parlour sharing tales of their day. Diana is good to take them on - well I suppose I am too come to think of it. It was very special to have them all crowded around smelling so fresh and clean after their bath. Shirley climbed onto John's lap, having first asked if he was up to it. He is a dear our Shirley, always so considerate of John's health. We were happy to assure him that John is very much recovered from his accident.

* * *

18 August 1901

Yesterday we took the children on a promised trip to the seashore. A glorious day was nearly marred by a terrible tragedy, but more of that later.

The children built sandcastles the girls using the technique John taught them of drizzling wet sand through their fists. I watched from a beach chair John thoughtfully carried down for me and admired the shells the girls collected. They ran down to the water after a while and spent some time splashing about. Poor little Rilla got dumped by a big wave, John rescued her and deposited her on my lap for some much-needed comforting. A task with which I was only too happy to oblige; though her little body did not stay there nearly long enough for me. Once she had warmed back up, she was off like a shot to try it all again. She's a plucky little thing but I am not looking forward to the day when she is too big to sit on my lap.

While I was not really paying attention Jem and Walter decided to go out for a swim. Walter said afterwards it was Jem's idea which I can well imagine. Anyway, I noticed them eventually and was not happy with how far out they were. John went to fetch them and wound up getting stuck out there as well. The image of them drifting out to sea beyond the little cove we were picnicking in was very distressing.

I was panicking rather, fortunately Diana was able to direct our efforts and we followed them down the beach, praying as we went. As usual my distress expressed itself in waspishness when we finally caught up with them. I snapped as I wrapped blankets around them each, chiding them for their foolishness. Captain Jim's anguish at losing his Margaret came to mind; I don't think I could bear it if I were to lose my darling John again and how could I have told Anne that I lost her two eldest boys?

* * *

24 August 1901

Yet another picture-perfect Avonlea day. We introduced one of Anne's favourite haunts to her children. Hester Gray died such a long time ago, but it is heart-warming that her garden flourishes still.

As we drove along, John reminded me of an unsuccessful trip we attempted back when we were courting the first time. A thunderstorm caught us out and we wound up dripping on the Green Gables veranda instead. Apparently, I had a smudge of flour on my cheek and John and Mama smiled over it. I am a little embarrassed to be reminded, but he remembers it fondly enough.

Once we arrived the children ran off to play giving John an opportunity for some fondling. I pushed him away from my petticoats, and he caressed my breasts instead. There has been no opportunity while Rilla has been sharing our bed.

The children returned all too soon and were somewhat quiet on our ride home. Exhausted I suppose.

* * *

25 August 1901

We thought we were being circumspect yesterday, but apparently not. The children were particularly quiet today and as it turns out they thought I was in the family way. The poor darlings were worried that I would forget them if that were the case.

It was funny yet not. We had to explain to them that there is more to making babies than kissing, though I was not prepared to take that lesson further; that is what your parents are for and not until they are far older of course.

We laughed when they all ran out to play, much relieved in spirit. John said he couldn't think of anything worse than if we were to have a baby now and when I bridled explained that he would feel resentful if he had to share me with anyone else. Actually, I feel the same way; children are a blessing, but one I am happy to return to their parents after a spell.

It will be rather wonderful to have our house back to ourselves and our bed besides, what is it about small children pretending to be starfish in bed? John and I find ourselves perched on either side of the bed as Rilla spreads herself out. It will be rather wonderful to have our space back, and to be able to embrace with impunity again.

* * *

* See my earlier note about dates. This case actually occurred in 1892.


	28. Chapter 28

15 September 1901

John has planned a birthday surprise for me. Before we married, I never paid much attention to my birthday it was just another day. This year he has organised to take me back to the White Sands Hotel for some much-needed pampering, as he put it. I think he looks after me quite well enough, but I will not demur. The drive over was particularly lovely, the leaves are turning and putting on a beautiful show. Even in my darkest years, pre-Anne, I did enjoy this time of year.

* * *

16 September 1901

This has been a very special birthday. Breakfast in bed courtesy of Anne and Gilbert started the day most deliciously and then John had another surprise for me. Letters from each grandchild. Rilla drew me a drawing since she is so young. The letters brought tears to my eyes. Anne's children are all so loving; I wish we lived closer and saw more of them.

* * *

30 September 1901

Anne and Gilbert have Mary Maria to stay, I must say they are good. It's unchristian to say, but she is a terrible bore; always nitpicking and finding fault. I find I have little patience for her, I don't know how Anne will stand her.

We attended the Ladies' Aid at Mrs Cooks' today. Rachel said on the drive home that the woman's housekeeping skills are not up to her standard and while I defended her, I admit Mrs Cook's parlour was a little dusty.

* * *

5 October 1901

Tomorrow I have to run some errands in town, the mail, the groceries and I have to pick up some yarn, I've nearly run out. John must have put on a little weight, perhaps from all my good baking? That sweater I started knitting him last month doesn't look like it will be large enough.

I told Dora I would pick up a few things for her too. Baby Sara has a cold and Dora just doesn't have the energy for a trip to town. It always seems so unfair when little children are unwell.

* * *

6 October 1901

I'm just sitting down after my trip to town. I find those trips somewhat exhausting these days, it always seems busier than ever there. It's always such a relief to return home to my comfortable house and pop on a cup of tea to recover.

Today I received some mail including one from Anne. I sat down in the buggy to read it quickly to save myself a trip in case she needed a quick response. She complained that Mary Maria was really driving them all a little crazy. She is, to quote Anne 'sucking the joy out of life'. Hmm that's the Mary Maria I know, that's for sure and certain. Before I had a chance to really think it through I dashed off a note back to Anne inviting Mary Maria to come and stay here with us. Just to give her some respite. Now all I have to do is break the news to John, I'm a bit worried about that. Mary Maria is not his favourite cousin.

I had another interesting letter, it looks like we might be off to New York again next year. The couple we met at the White Sands Hotel have invited us to a concert at the Met in April. How exciting.

* * *

12 October 1901

Well, be careful what you wish for is all I'll say. I invited her, I know it's my fault but Anne wasn't exaggerating when she mentioned how sour Mary Maria is these days. She never was the most enthusiastic of women, but she would make the most devout amongst us cry.

I shouldn't complain, I understand she is lonely, but I will mention a few things she has done to madden me:

She has a simpering manner whereby she doesn't want to make a fuss yet makes everything more of a bother than it has to be. She drinks warm water, not too cold and not too hot, so that every hot drink takes ages to prepare lest it be the wrong temperature.

She cast aspersions on my driving ability as if I have not been driving a horse and buggy all my life.

The merest scent will set off her asthma she claims but her sneezes are so tiny I am sure she is doing it for effect

And she adds the merest sniff to each and every comment as though she is looking down her nose at us all.

I try my best. Really, I do but sometimes I want to bash her over the head with a frying pan.

* * *

15 October 1901

John was terribly upset by Mary Maria's comment about our relationship last night. She made some quip that I had barely waited until Caroline's grave was cold before I jumped into his arms for a second go. The nerve of her. I tried to defend myself, but John stepped in telling her that it was not necessary. He told Mary Maria to apologise for her comments which she did in a half-hearted way, saying she was sorry if I was hurt by her words. You know the sort of apology that isn't really any apology at all. If she weren't a relation she would be out on her ear.

* * *

17 October 1901

As if the other night's insult wasn't bad enough, today she had a go at the grandchildren. I admit I lost my temper when she told us they were ill mannered and full of mischief. It is not often I lose my temper to that extent but she did it. I was shaking with anger when I kicked her out and I am not even one bit sorry about it. She is the most opinionated, despicable human being to ever cross my threshold and I refuse to have anything more to do with her.

* * *

2 November 1901

We had word that Robert Boulter died today. Such a loss to the community. He was a much-loved man and a wonderful father. His daughter Tilly was a good friend to Anne back in her school days. He will be much missed, but he has been ill for a long time.

* * *

12 November 1901

Sometimes John complains about Rachel's love of gossip and then sometimes he is just as bad as she. Today over tea the two of them were discussing our bereaved neighbour Lily Boulter. Rachel had a scandalous rumour which she insisted on sharing with us. She really is incorrigible. I'm not going to record it her; one day someone else might read these diaries and I would hate for such a rumour to be repeated down the ages. Suffice it to say that if true it is a terrible thing, but we have no evidence to back it up. I rebuked them both for their mischievousness.

* * *

15 December 1901

John is full of enthusiasm and I do enjoy listening to his excitement even if I do not share it myself. He has always been intrigued in the myriad of engineering marvels the Victoria age developed and I am sure the Edwardian age will do the same. I know he loves trains, and now he has turned his attention to flying of all things. I can't see the attraction. It sounds so dangerous. It's one thing to get yourself up there; it's the safely coming down to earth again I worry about.

We minded Davy's boys today. They are chips off the old block, double the trouble as John says. Goodness it is hard work keeping up with the two of them. I thought it was bad enough when Davy arrived (and it was) but these two have him beat.

* * *

14 January 1902

My old bones no longer enjoy this cold weather and I find my hips ache most horribly. Fortunately, John is always on hand to help. Today he massaged some salve onto my hip; at least that's how it started.

We have been enjoying reading Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes. We make a bit of a game of trying to sieve through the clues for the solution. It does wile away these long winter nights. Though I must say Holmes himself is quite a scandalous character. I certainly can't approve.

John had an idea to save my arthritic hips, he suggested we move our bedroom down to Matthew's old room. Even after all these years I still think of it as his.

* * *

15 January 1902

'Dr' Blythe has ordered a day's bedrest. It's hedonistic I know but actually I am quite relieved. This hip is quite painful. If I were on my own I know I would struggle through, but how lovely to have the decision taken out of my hands.

John has been very attentive, bringing me lunch and keeping me company. Though he has ducked out now. I'm just going to read for a little while and then see if I can nap.

* * *

16 January 1902

It's all sorted, John and Davy will move the bed next week after I have had a chance to clean both rooms.

Rachel has just been by complaining that she has misplaced her diamond pendant. I decided to put on my Sherlock Holmes hat as it were. After a little probing I deduced that her new kitten may have consumed it. I reassured Rachel that the diamond should reappear in a day or so. She was not much appeased. I suspect one of her daughters may be delighted by a new present at some point in the future.

* * *

15 February 1902

I received the oddest letter from Anne today. Apparently, Rilla had a very vivid dream the other night. She woke up in the wee sma's to find a ghostly apparition of Matthew on her bed. Ordinarily I wouldn't take much notice of that, children do have the most incredible dreams. Except this apparition mentioned something that happened to me when I was little.

Goodness, I haven't thought of it for years and I am the only person living who should know of it still. When I was a very little girl, I did a naughty thing and cut the whiskers off our cat Misty. The mystery is how Rilla could find out? Could the apparition have been…? No, it's too ridiculous.

* * *

30 March 1902

I made a flippant comment today and now I rue my words. We were talking about letter writing and I said that daughters were better letter writers than sons and John should have had one. Imagine my surprise when he started sobbing. Turns out he and Caroline struggled so to have children. She had terrible trouble conceiving and then keeping them. Gilbert was somewhat of a miracle child. They did manage to conceive again eventually, a girl but she was still born. Me and my big mouth. I've always been able to put my foot in it. Darling John was terribly upset as he recounted the story to me. I hugged him for a long time and put him to bed. Such events are exhausting in my experience. I must be careful in future, it's not as if I have the monopoly on suffering.

* * *

5 April 1902

Remember how upset I was last time I left the Island? I feel like quite the veteran voyager now, as my Anne would say. Though it's always a bit disconcerting to watch my home disappear over the horizon.

New York smells, that's what, the result of too many horses apparently. We freshened up in our hotel room before meeting the Smithers who are as delightful as ever and very generous hosts. Over a sumptuous dinner accompanied by French champagne they described the opera's plot to us. Mrs Smithers explained that the unusual shape of our champagne glasses was supposed to mimic Marie Antoinette's breasts. I am sure I blushed.

* * *

6 April 1902

A beautiful sunny day dawned, and we spent it exploring Central Park, a vast space in the centre of the city. We rode on a carousel, were particularly impressed by the optical illusion of the Bethesda Terrace and enjoyed a simple lunch at a cafeteria within the park itself. New York has new surprises on every corner. I find it quite marvellous if overwhelming.

* * *

7 April 1902

The Metropolitan Opera House is quite simply magnificent. Surely the most incredible building I have ever seen. I thought the White Sands Hotel was something, but this is in another league altogether. We felt very provincial indeed and were relieved to spy the Smithers looking very smart in a corner. Our seats were located in a private box directly in front of the stage giving us an unimpeded view. I cried, yes I admit I teared up with emotion when those star crossed lovers died in each other's arms. Madame Melba's voice was angelic, she portrayed all the pathos needed for the part with her luxurious voice.

Afterwards Mrs Smithers introduced us to Madame Melba who had quite a flat voice as it turned out. Due, Mrs Smithers explained, to her Australian beginnings. How lovely to hear another member of the Empire sing for us in the States. We felt quite an affinity with her.

* * *

10 April 1902

Well we are back on the Island if not quite home yet. Anne and Gilbert welcomed us to Ingleside for a visit. The children escorted us down to their beloved Rainbow Valley and we described our trip to them. They were fascinated that anywhere so large could exist and at the size of the buildings which I agree are quite fantastical.

* * *

13 April 1902

Anne planned a big surprise for us all. We had a family photograph taken. It was a rum affair and I fear it will look very stilted and uncomfortable for of course no one can smile. Instead we had to pose stock still for ever such a long time. Still it will look lovely at our house, a fine reminder of our not so little family. I must organise one for the Avonlea folk.

* * *

20 April 1902

Finally, we arrived home. It's always a relief to catch a glimpse of those welcoming green gables through the trees, beckoning us home.

I gave Rachel her special present, a bottle of champagne and six of those special glasses so admired by Mrs Smithers. Rachel hooted with laughter when I explained them to her and commented that Marie Antoinette must have been flat chested like me, she put them up to her chest for comparison. We did have a good laugh, it is good to see her again.

* * *

21 May 1902

We have been having a lovely time together, nothing particularly amazing happening. Just a lovely quiet time living together. He does make me smile, my darling John. How I love him.

* * *

3 June 1902

Davy popped by today. He is having some problems finding labour to help with the harvest. Many suitable candidates have rushed off to the Klondike in search of their fortunes leaving Davy and many local farmers bereft. The crops still have to be brought in, how we do not know? I don't know what I can do to help, but I commiserate with with his dilemma.

John came in for his tea and had a suggestion; perhaps we could call on the services of the wider family. I'm not sure about that? Jem is too young surely. Still it doesn't hurt to ask I suppose.

* * *

12 June 1902

Jem arrived in a rush of young enthusiasm. He filled us in on all the gossip, including Rilla's most important news that she has lost a tooth. I fancy I caught a glimmer of a tear in his eye, poor boy I suppose it's his first trip away from them all.

* * *

13 June 1902

I hated waking Jem up so early this morning and he was quite confused because it was quite dark still. I fixed him a proper breakfast to load him up for the rigorous day ahead. I'm just waiting for him to come in now. I wonder how he went.

* * *

14 June 1902

Oh Jem, you poor darling. Davy said he tried to get him to slow down, but he went at the work so hard he's collapsed now. I left him to sleep in this morning, the harvest isn't going anywhere.

Last night John offered to rub some liniment on his tired muscles. Once I would have done it myself, but John rightly supposed that perhaps he'd rather have a man do it. I shed an internal tear at that, but he is right of course. Jem is growing up, it's no longer my job. John joked that he'd be happy for me to slather liniment on him any day. He's so good at reading my mood.

I wrote a letter to Anne and explained how lovely it was to see Jem and how hard he is working already.

* * *

5 September 1902

Millie is hosting the Harvest Picnic tomorrow. Anne and Gilbert are bringing the family and will take Jem home with them afterwards.

We can remember the boy who arrived a couple of months ago and will be sad to say goodbye to the young man who leaves. I do believe Jem has really grown up this summer.

* * *

7 September 1902

The picnic was a success. Millie, Dora and I cooked up a storm and the extended family enjoyed a lovely lunch together on the lawn. Anne commented that she saw a great change in Jem since she saw him last, that he is comporting himself like a man rather than a boy. I hope he comes back again next year.

* * *

13 September 1902

Rachel bustled up in a great rush today. I just knew she had some news to share by her manner. Breathlessly she blurted out the gossip, Mr Harvey was seen creeping out of Mrs Keneally's back door late last night. I'm sure it was perfectly innocent, but even I cannot think of any justification for such behaviour. I thought Rachel was going to have a conniption over it. Her mind will run away with her, I see it as my duty to keep her down to earth on these occasions. Yet, I agree it does look suspicious.

* * *

29 September 1902

It's Carmody Fair Day we have arranged to meet Anne's family for an outing. I hope we have a lovely time. I entered my plum puffs in the baking competition and I hope to be successful this year. I do think my puffs are sufficiently good to win. I've entered before and never got better than a second, so fingers crossed this is my year.

* * *

30 September 1902

Rachel Lynde won the baking competition! What is the world coming to when Rachel's muffins beat my far superior plum puffs. I was most put out and I just know I'll never hear the end of it, Rachel is wont to gloat so. I am quite grumpy about it.

But what a lovely day. There's a particular fair smell I always think; a heady mix of animal and human sweat, sweet things, dust, a touch of animal manure and carny folk.

Gilbert announced that the big boys were old enough to strike out on their own this time and we watched a jubilant Jem and Walter quickly disappear into the crowd, no doubt their coins burning hot in their pockets. In contrast, little Nan squeezed close to me fearful of the lurid organ playing at the entrance, she is a little girl yet. I was happy to comfort her, the instrument was quite alarming.

The baking judging wasn't until 11am so we had a few hours in which to amuse ourselves and it was just a matter of what to choose to do first. Our feet lead us to a puppet show which we adults found quite mystifying but the children caught on quickly enough. There's a certain dismissive incredulity only an 8 yr old boy can summon when he's explaining something to his elders, a tone Shirley seems to have mastered.

John and Gilbert took the opportunity to practice their marksmanship quite seriously as they handed their jackets to Anne & myself and rolled up their sleeves. John was rather proud to beat Gilbert and I admit I was proud of him too. Next he won some hideous doll for me at the coconut shy which I was happy to bequeath to Rilla. At some point the older boys reappeared momentarily and asked John for some more money which he surreptitiously gave them with a wink to me.

Poor Rilla got quite upset that she missed out on seeing the Fat Lady but we decided she needed a little nap and I admit I dropped off for a moment myself. Gilbert declared he was rather worried the Fat Lady might drop dead at any point. He does make me smile when he's unable to take his physician hat off.

We marvelled at the strong men, tossing a caber is no mean feat. I joined the crowd in as we held our collective my breath when it tottered on its point and ahhed when it landed the right way. The girls were very put out, Diana in particular that they were not allowed to in the in the rope pull, but it isn't ladylike. Grumpily they sat with Anne & me and watched instead. It can be such a trial to be a girl, but there are compensations. I don't believe I would ever wish to be a man and I said as much to Diana. I'm not sure that I chose my moment terribly well because she gave me such a look.


	29. Chapter 29

Work is pretty quiet, which leaves time to write. Every cloud has a silver lining.

* * *

5 October 1902

My goodness, what a situation I find myself in.

Such a terrible shock to wake up and find a man, John Blythe no less, in my bed in the middle of the night. They tell me that there's nothing unusual about that, but I have no memories of our second courtship there's just a blank when I try to recall it. I went to bed last night on my own as usual just the way I like it. Well there was I time I thought I might have had a man in my bed by now, I admit. But that was long ago and he would have been invited.

I shrieked when I felt a leg touch mine and scrambled out of bed hopping up and down in my rage.

It was only later that I realised I had no nightgown on. John saw me in a state of undress! I never go to bed without my nightgown on; I feel like I had woken in some kind of hell.

To be honest my next thought was that he was addled in the brain, had he left Caroline in the night to creep into my bed? As if he was the one who had forgotten his marriage vows, as if he thought he had married me all those years ago.

He asked permission to stay in the house as it was dark and cold outside and reluctantly I acquiesced. If he is not well I supposed it would be unsafe to send him out into the night.

I fell into an uneasy sleep and was pleased John appeared to have left in the morning.

On reflection Anne's response should have been a heads up that something was amiss but I was too riled up in my mind to pay it much attention. I was quite confused to find the doctor on my doorstep. I'm sure I don't know how he knew anything about it? Had he come to make sure I hadn't been molested? I did not want him to examine me in my very private place.

Doctor Mustard asked me all sorts of curious questions like today's date. I told him and then he and Rachel told me that it is in fact four years later than I thought. What is going on?

In my distress I thought about all that I had missed, or forgotten anyway. Had Anne had any more children? Had anyone died? Dora has had a baby! A little girl, Sara who is about 18 months. But as it turns out although the usual births and deaths have occurred, the main thing that I've forgotten is that I married John Blythe. That's why he was in my bed. I married him! It seems beyond believing. And then I was worried that he was committing bigamy, but Rachel informed me that Caroline died, so that's alright, though I mourn her. She may have married the man destined for me, but we were good friends despite that. I had to let bygones be bygones, this is a small town. You can't stay bitter enemies for ever.

So now I have to get my head around being a married woman. It is … challenging.

John is spending some time down at Rachel's because although I have no memory of it, he in fact has nowhere else to live. I am not ready to have him living here at present.

I suppose it is quite difficult for him. I see him looking at me from a distance so sadly, I almost want to reach out to him, but at this stage I cannot. I have to process my feelings towards him. It is not easy.

Marriage, marry, wife, husband.

These are big words with many ramifications. I suppose this means I have lain with a man and that I am a maid no longer. Rachel says I enjoyed an active marriage with John. I cannot fathom it.

* * *

7 October 1902

It's the little things that are the most disconcerting.

My bed has been replaced by Matthew's smaller one. And the bedroom which should have been clean and neat was dusty. What has happened to me? Have I forgotten how to dust? I walked around the room slowly, all the kinks and bumps were like old familiar friends, dust motes dancing in the light brought tears to my eyes. I traced my fingers over the wood paneling, feeling the slight grittiness, the echoes of my former life rattle around me.

Anne found me there, I hadn't heard her arrive. I was sobbing on the bed by then, she gathered me into her arms and let me cry, rubbing my back in slow circles. She is a dear, I love her like she was my own kin. I can't imagine what my life would have been like if she never came.

Slowly she led me back downstairs and showed me the new bedroom, the bed looks cosy in Matthew's room. Then we made our way to the kitchen where she made a cup of coffee and filled me in on all that I have forgotten.

I fancy I'll get a shock when I see the children. Rilla is quite small by my estimation, but is talking now. A few old neighbours and acquaintances have died and Anne filled me in on the news. After the coffee we went for a short stroll around the farm. Familiar trees have fallen or grown, it's like the place I know, yet different. I do find it all most bewildering.

* * *

8 October 1902

John paid a call and we had a very stilted conversation. He told me he was content to stay at Rachel's for the time being, but I got the distinct impression he is unhappy with the situation. Still never mind him, I am not ready to admit him back here. I have a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

15 October 1902

It has been decided that John will move back in. He's to sleep upstairs in my old room and I will sleep in my new bedroom. I'm still somewhat unsettled by the situation, but I suppose it will be satisfactory. He promised to give me plenty of space.

* * *

20 October 1902

Hair washing has always been one of my favourite times, the sensation of sluicing warm water over my head has always been enjoyable, but it seems my approach has changed in recent years if John's reaction is anything to go by. He asked if he could help me. I was shocked he intruded into such a personal moment though it gave me some insight into our relationship.

* * *

26 October 1902

Rachel welcomed me in this morning and filled me on my side of our relationship. According to her I have been blissfully happy since I married him.

Oh I don't know it's very difficult. I feel as if I am being forced into a relationship when I am not ready for it, and yet and yet I think I could love him again.

I longed for this moment for so many long years and now it has come I am hesitating. What a strange position to be in.

* * *

7 November 1902

I've been reading my diary. It feels like someone else's life not mine, but very very occasionally I get some flash of recognition which jolts me back to that time. It happened today when I was reading about flying down a hill on a sled, imagine that! And old lady like me still sledding.

I told John about my memory and he filled me in on the rest of that trip, apparently John played the part of Father Christmas and I caught some virus and slept the rest of the week. He was terribly worried about me.

* * *

10 November 1902

Davy's boys are like his wee self times two. He does make me laugh when he complains to me about their antics.

John does a good job of keeping up with them. They visited us yesterday and kept us on our toes, but they have grown into two delightful little scamps, like gorgeous peas in a pod they are but infectiously wonderful with it. You just know there's not a wicked bone in their body, despite their cheekiness.

* * *

15 November 1902

Anne asked us to come up to Ingleside to help her out. Seems Susan's cousin is unwell. John has something he wants to finish off so he's staying behind while I make my way over to the Glen on my own.

* * *

17 November 1902

The children have grown so much. Well they would wouldn't they. It's these little reminders that keep jolting me. I imagine something one way and find it's changed in the intervening lost years. They've been appraised of my situation but like me they keep forgetting. They'll ask me if I remember something that happened recently and look rather crestfallen when I say that I cannot. Anne tries to remind them not to upset me but we all fall into that trap so I cannot blame them.

I miss John. A mere few weeks ago I forgot our relationship altogether, and now I hate to be apart from him.

* * *

19 November 1902

Anne and I had a lovely chat about my situation. She told me that John and I had been very much in love. She hoped I might permit him to be intimate again. It was a strange conversation to have with my daughter, but she is an adult now I suppose. I don't know how I feel about John. I was besotted with him once upon a time, but that was a long time ago. Can I? Should I? It's so confusing. I shall pray on it.

* * *

23 November 1902

A terrible storm has delayed John. I do hope he will be safe.

I miss him. Goodness I didn't know I was married to him yet now I cannot bear to be apart from him for a few days. What a strange situation. Anne and I had a lovely cup of warm milk in the wee smas while we waited for our menfolk; Gilbert was out delivering a baby, what a night to be born!

* * *

26 November 1902

I've always fretted when I'm worried and it seems that is one thing that has not changed. It's worse now that I'm here. At home I would bake, but here I am stuck. It's driving me a little crazy.

* * *

27 November 1902

Anne finally took pity on me (or her rug I'm not sure) and asked for Susan's leave to let me into her kitchen. I appreciate this is no small request.

It just felt so much better to be doing something, to be useful. I'm sitting in the kitchen now enjoying the smell of cakes baking, I always find it so comforting.

* * *

30 November 1902

He returned.

I fainted.

Apparently I did that when he proposed too. What has come over me? I never used to be a fainter.

* * *

6 December 1902

We have come home. I have had a great deal to think about while we were apart. Much as I adore being with Anne, there is nowhere like my beloved Green Gables. I always feel a great sense of peace overcome me when I return. The old place was as dear to me as ever, I had forgotten how things had grown, or fallen over during m forgotten years. It is a strange thing to see trees that were wee saplings last time I 'saw' them now tall. Or shrubs I had enjoyed that are apparently now deceased. I felt the same way when I saw Anne's children. They were all grown up.

* * *

9 December 1902

John asked if I would permit him to sleep next to me last night. I felt very exposed with a man next to me there but I asked him if the situation was as difficult for him as it is for me. He told me that he felt such remorse for the way our relationship unfolded. I asked him if we could hold hands and we did for the briefest of moments. It felt very queer to be holding hands with a man in my bed, but not unpleasant. I asked him to tell me about our life together and I admit it does sound nice, we sound like we make a nice couple. It's as though I'm talking about other people, not the two of us which in a way I suppose I am.

I let him hug me after his story and I must say I did feel safe there in his arms listening to the sound of his heart. I must have fallen asleep there and I awoke during the night with a start, but fell back to sleep easily enough.

* * *

16 December 1902

I have permitted John to be slightly more intimate with me not too far just yet, but he may touch and kiss me. I think he is enjoying it and I'll allow it is quite nice. I am getting used to having him around. He is very caring and sweet.

* * *

20 December 1902

We made love last night. It was, well it was wonderful. I was so frightened, but I needed have been. John is a caring and attentive lover. He took it real slow, checking that I was comfortable and felt safe. Of course they had told me I was a maid no longer, but I was frightened. I thought it would hurt that it would be a terrible assault on my being. It was nothing of the sort. It was wonderful, just wonderful.

I am sure this will be just the beginning of something quite marvellous, a new (revisited) epoch in my life. I find I am quite eager to go to bed tonight. Perhaps he will make love to me again? I'm sure I don't know what he sees in me, but I am happy to make the most of it while it lasts. I for one find him quite attractive, I will confess. Goodness I sound like a giggly young girl but the way he touched me last night, well...

* * *

22 December 1902

Davy's boys came to visit, they are dears but never stop. We are exhausted. I'm off to bed.

* * *

A/N If you are lost, I recommend reading my other story, _Memories are Made of This_. At this point most of these stories derive from there.


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